Escaping Isengard
by Zoop
Summary: At the end of despair, when all hope has faded, a woman facing the last moments of her life finds the will to survive rekindled by one whose kind robbed her of it to begin with. Now she must decide which evil is the lesser: stay with the beast, or risk worse by leaving him. She soon finds that the horrors she faced in Isengard were not reserved for those in the breeding pits alone.
1. Chapter 1

"Which one'uh you's number Ninety-Nine?" the gruff voice of their jailor called down the torchlit corridor. The one labeled 'Ninety-Nine' by Saruman flinched, and pulled herself deeper into the shadows of the cell. The two who shared it, Eighty-Seven and One Hundred Three, shifted out of sight of the cell door, eying her nervously. None in the pits had it in them to take another's place out of pity. If the jailor opened the door, they'd shove her out, like as not. Months ago, she might have been insulted, but months ago she still possessed strength enough to comfort them when they despaired. That time was past; she had precious little left for herself, and nothing more to give anyone.

"Yuh don't show yerself, I start yankin' yuhs out by the hair and checkin'," he warned, banging the bars with a cudgel as he passed down the hall. "Master say it's time for yer next round. Better come on out like a good girl."

_It will be my fourth_, she told herself. _He only takes four from us, then... then it's over_. Shuddering with revulsion at the thought of even _one_ more of their foul spawn in her body, even for so short a time as was afforded by Saruman's dark sorcery, Ninety-Nine peeled herself from the darkness and dragged her feet to the door. Grimacing and squeezing her eyes shut, she slowly extended an arm through the bars, her hand hanging limp and near lifeless in her defeat.

Where was the defiance she used to have? Ninety-Nine could not recall. Coming from a poor family as she had, the woman made her own way, for a dowry was too dear a thing to offer any prospective husband of better quality than a rough-handed swine herd or butcher. Though it shamed her in the beginning, joining the Ladies in their service to men reaped great rewards. She was able to pay her own way, own a small but clean place of her own, indulge a degree of independence that even a good marriage likely wouldn't have afforded her.

It was a cruel irony that she was no longer a whore for Men, but for those who slew them.

They'd ruined her. Even if the hope of escape still shone in her eyes, it was ashes in her heart. The beasts' claws rent her thin flesh, tore her beauty from her as though it were nothing, leaving a scarred and hideous woman behind. She would likely not be recognized by her folk if she _did_ return, so marred was her face. Though the Orcs mostly clawed and bit her breasts and hips, the first one to rape her cut her cheeks when he grabbed her chin, digging claws in and holding her head still. He wanted her to look at him as he raped her, and she refused. She paid for her defiance dearly every time he came to the breeding room, whether she complied with his wishes or not, and her face was likely as ugly as an Orc's now. The only blessing of this horrible place was that she could not see what he'd done to her face.

Ninety-Nine suppressed a shudder, recalling him, and held her head up with as much dignity as she could. He was the worst by far, if any of these creatures could be called better or worse than any other. Regardless, this was the last of them. She must find strength somewhere. A few days of enduring the painful humiliation, the fortnight or so it took to grow the monster within her, then... relief in death. So close she could almost taste it.

Chuckling, the stoop-shouldered Orc shuffled up to the door and unlocked it from the rattling key ring tied to his belt. "Good lass," he rumbled. "Last one."

She nodded and allowed herself to be taken from the cell and led down the corridor to the breeding room. Though fear of the unknown Uruk selected to rape her tried to consume her thoughts, she forced herself to remember the fortnight of relative peace that would come after his seed took hold. No more assaults, no dark, filthy cell shared with unwashed women so deeply entrenched in their own despair they could no longer speak kindly even to one another. She would be tended by a small Orc, fed large quantities of meat and bread, for the thing within her grew swiftly under the wizard's black magic and seemed bent on sucking her dry. Perhaps it was stale bread, often moldy, but it was _hers_ and so rare a treat. Anything thrown into their cells that was not dry, tasteless meat was fought over.

They reached a gate and the jailor opened it. Ninety-Nine stood impassively as the jailor handed her off to the Pitmaster.

"Go easy," the jailor advised him.

"Don't tell me my business, _pushdug_," the Pitmaster snarled, cuffing the jailor's ear. Turning to Ninety-Nine, he smirked. "Light day today, miss. All the boys are up top, givin' what-for to your folk. Still, business is business, and we gotta keep on. Your turn, and there's a young'un here next in line for his duty. See you make'im feel welcome, eh?"

She winced silently and averted her eyes from the foul creature. While the jailor seemed to have a touch of sympathy for those in his charge, the Pitmaster was a complete bastard. She supposed that was to be expected. Almost none of them were given to kindness of any sort.

A tiny spark of curiosity made her ask, "There is a battle?"

"Aye," the Pitmaster nodded as he took her into the hated room. "Emptied the place to see to it. Only the ones what got banged up at the Fords are here. Lucky thing, you get one'uh the big'uns." He cackled cruelly and patted the table's surface. "Don't be shy, now. Best get on with it, eh?"

Clinging to the relief she knew would come once this... _thing_... was done, Ninety-Nine climbed upon the oddly-shaped table and allowed the Pitmaster to secure her arms and legs.

The table was in the shape of a split branch, supporting her body with her legs wide apart. Things were different in years past, before her time here; the Pitmaster loved to regale them with such tales. The Uruk-hai used to take them down freely on the floor in a frenzy, but because their master was often unsure which of the brutes planted his seed in which female, he imparted _orderliness_ on the proceedings.

It did not make the violation any less horrific.

"Oy! She's ready, whelp," the Pitmaster called, and Ninety-Nine fixed her eyes on the earthen ceiling. _Don't look at it, don't see it, for Béma's sake, don't _smell _it_. She searched desperately for that place of quiet forgetfulness that once spared her the indignity of coupling with crude, foul-smelling men and now relieved her somewhat from the horrors of these creatures.

Ninety-Nine heard the oddly uneven steps of her approaching rapist and steeled herself. _One last time, then peace_.

"Got bunged hard, eh?" the Pitmaster commented as the newcomer entered. He only responded with a horse-like snort. "Get to it, now. Master's plenty busy, but he'll know if you shirk. He _always_ knows." Again the cackling laugh filled the silent room.

She heard the familiar sound of leather ties being undone, and knew it would be only moments before something hot, hard and unforgiving was rammed into her, like a sword through meat. Even without a fight to spur them to violence, they were ever rough about it.

Her second was a trial to endure. For some reason, that Uruk's seed took longer to accomplish the wizard's goal, and his frequent visits became so routine even _he_ got bored with it. There were several occasions where an Uruk hard at work at a neighboring table was obliged to cuff his ear for trying to strike up a conversation. His lack of interest made for lengthy breeding sessions that left him exhausted. She did not like to remember the third.

Most of the time, the Uruk-hai seemed to be extremely quick to finish, a true blessing. Yet Ninety-Nine swallowed hard and prayed not to live through it at all this time.

"Don't like watch!" the Uruk suddenly roared, and Ninety-Nine startled. "Do summat else!"

"What the fuck is there, eh?" the Pitmaster snapped. "You get on that bitch _now_, yuh dumb bastard, or it's the whip for you." She heard him lick his lips noisily. "Better for me if you choose the whip."

"Put whip up yer ass," the Uruk growled. "Back off!"

Ninety-Nine dared a glance at her Uruk in time to see a wave of discomfort roll across his face, if only briefly. It struck her that he was in pain; that must be what was holding him up. No others she'd had the misfortune to lie before had hesitated, nor had they cared about having an audience. Frowning, she turned her gaze back to the ceiling. Now or in a few minutes likely didn't matter; he'd be about his 'duty' and she would return to her cell to await his recovery. Then it would happen again. A shudder ran through her.

Quite suddenly, his hips hit between her legs, and he began to thrust. Except... there was nothing inside her. She could _feel_ him, his assault a bruising punishment against her sex, but he wasn't hard. Stunned, she stole another glance at his face.

His jaw was working, clenching and grinding as he stared at the opposite wall. He looked briefly down and met her eyes. He looked... ashamed, and tore his gaze away, firming his lips in a grim line.

Ninety-Nine lay there in shock. She furtively flicked a glance at the Pitmaster, leaning against the wall behind the Uruk. He was casually picking his claws with a knifepoint. Unexpectedly, the Uruk leaned down over her body and growled close to her ear, his voice pitched low and for her hearing only.

"Don't say nothin'," he whispered.

She quickly nodded, and their eyes met once again. It was the oddest thing; he seemed to be _grateful_ for her complicity in his ruse, and returned her nod. She contemplated making some show of discomfort to aid in the illusion, and frowned at the thought. Had she been brought so low that she was reduced to _conspiring_ with these beasts? A long-dead spark of defiance flared for a moment and died. Truly, what would revealing his failure attain? He would likely be replaced with another. May as well help him, if only to buy some measure of ease later when he regained his vigor. Closing her eyes, she whimpered and feigned a sob.

After a few more bruising minutes, he stepped back to catch his breath and the Pitmaster sauntered over. "Feels good after a fight, don't it?" he said almost wistfully. "Lucky fucks, you are." The sound of a hand slapping a hard hunk of meat echoed in the room. "Get yer breath. Master expects five er six outta yuh each day, so make sure yuh don't skimp on rations."

"Fuck off," the Uruk growled quietly.

"Just 'splainin' the rules, since you're new hereabouts," the Pitmaster replied good-naturedly. "Hey, uh... once we know she's done up proper with yer whelp, yuh think I could... just one er two? 'Fore I report it to master?"

"Fuck. _Off_," the surly Uruk snarled.

"Thought I'd ask," the Pitmaster replied. "Don't hurt to ask, yuh selfish bastard."

After what the Uruk must surely have decided was a reasonable amount of 'recovery' time, he stepped up to the table once more and feigned breeding her. Ninety-Nine wasn't quite sure how to handle the situation, except to be relieved that the despised experience of being raped by one of these foul beasts was momentarily delayed. This was certainly only a brief reprieve. By tomorrow, he'd likely be more fully recovered from whatever injury rendered him impotent, and she would assuredly suffer as never before, for she had witnessed his failure, his _humiliation_.

If she knew nothing else of these beasts, she knew they did not show their weaknesses around others.

Even as he pretended completion, however, the sound of clattering footsteps on the run down the steps could be heard, and every head turned toward the stairs that Ninety-Nine had not set foot upon since she was taken down here too many months ago to count.

"What's all the fuckin' noise?" the Pitmaster barked with annoyance, and one of his lackeys burst into the room.

"Trees, Pitmaster!" the little _snaga_ cried, large eyes open even wider and showing a bottomless pit of fear. "They's comin'! Broke the doors and they's comin' down the valley!"

"Trees?" the Pitmaster barked incredulously. "What'chou been drinkin, Draug?"

"Ain't been," Draug whimpered nervously. "They's marchin'. Some's up by the dam; what if they pull it down?"

Beneath their feet, the earth began to tremble, and the far off sound of thunder rumbled through the tunnels. The Pitmaster startled, then stared at Draug as if seeing him for the first time. The little _snaga_ nodded jerkily, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. "Down deep here; shouldn't oughta be hearin' nothin'," Draug whimpered. "They's comin'..." His eyes rose to the ceiling as though he expected it to come crashing down on his head at any moment.

Eyes widening, the Pitmaster shot a look at the Uruk. "Trees or no trees, if the dam goes we're dead. Fuck til yuh drown if yuh want, _pushdug_. I'm runnin' while I got a chance." The two Orcs bolted from the room, running noisily up the stairs.

Drown... Ninety-Nine began to shake. The will to live that she thought she'd lost surged through her, and she yanked at the restraints. To her surprise, the Uruk took to the buckles with shaking hands, releasing her.

"Please," she begged, forcing herself to look at his brutish face. "I'll... I'll give you anything. Don't let me die here_._"

"Owe yuh," he growled. He hauled off his ragged tunic and pulled it down over her naked body. She stood there, stunned for a moment, swimming in the much larger garment. The question formed in her mind, of why he would clothe her, then was forgotten as he grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the stairs.

She'd been confined to a cell for months, yet the fear the Orcs put in her – _trees_ attacking! - made her run in the big Uruk's wake. The roaring sound was building as they rose through the earth on the winding stairs, and she began to hear screaming...

Ever since her capture, she'd longed to hear the terrified wails of her tormenters, but she'd always hoped she'd hear them from a safe distance. As they emerged onto the ramp skirting the walls of the massive forge pit, she beheld utter chaos.

The smaller Orcs were crowding the ramps, aiming for higher ground as a huge river of water flowed endlessly over the rim of the pit. Down below, scaffolding hit by the cascade toppled onto those caught in the belly of the pit, and their screams were cut off. Ninety-Nine just stood there gaping for a moment, until her Uruk yanked her hand and pulled her into the flow of bodies trying desperately to climb to safety.

There did not seem to be respite above. As the first Orcs reached the top, they were grasped by gnarled, bark-covered hands and flung back into the pit. Ninety-Nine's terrified eyes saw trees come alive, _hundreds_ of them, lining the rim of the pit, hurling rocks down upon the fleeing Orcs. _Trees!_ The Uruk saw this, and pulled her to a side tunnel some others had also run into.

Looking back over her shoulder as the tunnel swallowed her up, she noted how the Orcs mercilessly shoved their fellows off the ramps if they were not quick enough. Just as many were likely thrown to their doom by their own kind as from the trees.

She clung to the Uruk's hand even tighter now, for on all sides were Orcs clawing desperately through the narrow tunnel, bumping her and jostling to be the first one out. She saw no Uruks among them, aside from her own. The Orcs' labored, panicked breathing huffed all around her as the tunnel seemed to stretch endlessly. After awhile, she realized the roaring of the water flooding the pit had diminished with distance, as had the screams of the dying.

She nearly breathed a sigh of relief, and embraced hope that soon this tunnel would end and she might be in the free air again, until she heard splashing sounds.

The tunnel was beginning to take in water. The Uruk looked back at her then flicked his eyes behind them. She dared not see what he was seeing, for it widened his eyes and made him run all the harder. A few Orcs in their wake began to squeal with fear and the sound of their footfalls got louder as the water deepened, rising swiftly to their knees.

Their strides were slowing, as though they swam, and Ninety-Nine begged Béma not to let her die among Orcs, trapped in a tunnel. The water had reached her waist now, and the tunnel seemed to be narrowing further, so they could no longer cluster. Single file they trudged desperately, the ceiling so terribly close she brushed her filthy hair against it. The tall Uruk had to stoop, and frequently cracked his head on the uneven rock. The Orcs behind her pushed her body with their clawed hands, hurrying her along. For once, the touch of such creatures did not offend, for their desperation was also her own.

All at once, the group halted, water up to Ninety-Nine's chest, and she thought they were at a dead end. A keening wail of despair tore from her throat. In answer, the Uruk wrapped an arm about her body, pulling her close against him. Why an embrace from such as _he_ would comfort her, she did not know, but she clung to him hard.

The foremost Orcs were beating on something that had the strangely hollow sound of wood, and her hope renewed. It must be a door; if they could get the aged planks to budge...

Her Uruk released her and shoved his way to the front. His greater weight and strength he now applied desperately, ramming his shoulders against the door hard enough to break wood and bone. Ninety-Nine watched him, willing him to succeed, even as she tilted her chin up to keep the rising waters from filling her mouth.

With a rush, the door splintered open, and the water drained swiftly. Ninety-Nine sagged for a moment against the dripping wall, her legs gone weak. The half-drowned _snaga_ behind her darted past and out, hissing at the sun but likely grateful for it nonetheless. A dark form blocked the light from the end of the tunnel and she slowly looked up at the Uruk's black silhouette.

Without a word, he extended his hand to her. _I promised him payment_, she reminded herself and bit her lip. Slowly, she placed her small pale hand in his great black one, and closed her eyes for a moment, collecting herself. _Just one more... then peace._

When he pulled her into the sunlight, she was momentarily blinded and covered her eyes with her free hand. Even with her eyes shielded, the light was too much to bear after so long beneath the ground. The cold, crisp air bit through her soaked tunic and made her shiver.

"Come," the Uruk urged, tugging lightly on her hand. "Go from here."

She forced herself to look at him. His face was fierce and brutally-lined, his expression unreadable. If he sought to calm her racing heart and shattered nerves, he had a difficult task ahead of him, for now that the worst was over, all that she held at bay came thundering forth. Shaking hard and trying not to weep, she nodded shortly and willed her feet to follow him.

Letting him guide her, she looked about. They were on a wooded mountainside. Glancing back, she could not see the valley of the wizard or his tower, and wondered if they were _outside_ the ring of rock that surrounded it. The trees were just beginning to bud as spring neared, and the forest floor was strewn with damp leafy detritus from a long winter.

The Orcs who had escaped with them were nowhere to be seen.

Her rescuer, if he could be called so, led her silently through the woods for a good distance, perhaps a few miles. Her feet were torn and bleeding, her body near frozen, when he finally halted.

"This good," he growled, and urged her to sit on a fallen log. Then he ranged about, gathering twigs and broken branches to make a fire. Ninety-Nine hugged herself and watched him warily.

Since coming into the light, she'd avoided looking at his body, for it was merely a reminder of the foul torments she'd endured. But now she looked, and her brow furrowed.

His naked torso was laddered with scars. Were the pits so dark she never saw such markings, or had she blinded herself to their brutal bodies to diminish the horror of what they did? Seeing what were unmistakably cuts made by the lash, she remembered the Pitmaster's heavy hand and his favored tool for gaining compliance. She herself bore a few, received early before the will to fight the Pitmaster was smothered. This Uruk seemed to have never taken the lesson to heart.

Down his back at his waist and descending into his breeches was a fresh wound, recently sewn. Amongst the lash marks and other injuries, she could make out the curved abrasions that could only have been made by hooves, and wondered if this was the injury that kept him from fulfilling his duty. She silently thanked Béma for personally laying him low, and putting enough kindness in him to see her to safety, no matter what befell her after. The air was clean, the breeze fresh, the sun warm enough to drive a small amount of chill away. So long had these things been denied her, they were as priceless treasures. She took a deep breath and sighed with relief.

The Uruk worked diligently for several minutes, finally producing a flicker between the sticks he rubbed so vigorously. Hunching over with a pained grimace, he nurtured the tiny flame, blowing gently and feeding it carefully. Soon a healthy fire crackled, and Ninety-Nine reached toward it gratefully.

He stood and stretched, rubbing his back with a wince, then turned to her. She slowly looked up.

"Find meat now," he growled low in his throat. She nodded wordlessly, a thread of worry running through her.

"What of... the others?" she asked timidly as he turned away. He halted and looked back at her. "The other Orcs, that came through the tunnel," she clarified.

He shrugged. "Run off. Master don't call to'em."

"Please," she said urgently. "Will they... come back? While you are gone?"

He shook his head. "No. They got free. Runnin' north."

"What about... you?" she forced herself to ask. Even though his absence would likely make her feel more comfortable, she was loathe to be left alone so close to the place of her imprisonment and torture. "Where will you go?"

"Master calls," he said. Then he grimaced and shuddered. His rough voice lowered to a growl. "Master calls. Not free, like them." He shook his body as though to dislodge an annoying insect and said, "Not listen to Master. Got free." He thumped his chest for emphasis and added, "Stay free." Nodding to her, he turned and limped from the clearing.

Ninety-Nine frowned, unsure what he meant by being free now. Wasn't he free before?


	2. Chapter 2

Eoforhild, once called Ninety-Nine, hugged herself tightly against the cold at her back and stared into the flames. _I should run_, she told herself quite reasonably. _He is gone. I should run_.

Though the Uruk had led them for a few miles into the forested mountainside, and no sounds reached her ears of what must surely still be happening in the wizard's valley, she wanted more miles between her and that place. She wanted to be away from _him_ as well.

Horrific memories of what his kind had done on the way to Isengard from her destroyed town, to the many women and young girls _not_ selected for the breeding pits, came back to her now. She squeezed her eyes shut and chewed on her lip, hugging her middle tighter. She was spared then, for she and the handful of others had a _purpose_. Now she did not. Their fate would now be hers.

How foolish she'd been, corralling the women into a huddle and reassuring them that they would survive, they would get through this, escape was still a possibility, do not look at what is being done, turn your faces away, close your eyes, shut your ears, _don't look_...

_Run_, she told herself. _Please_.

The practical side of her countered the thought. _Where? Where can I go?_ She knew nothing of where she was, or in what direction her homeland lay. She might be lucky and find the plains of Rohan, but more likely she would travel deeper into the mountains. What if she stumbled upon the group of Orcs that escaped with them? Or any others who managed to find their way out? She tried not to imagine what any of them might do if they found her. She _knew_ what they'd do. She'd _seen_ it.

She did not want to endure such torments. To have escaped such a terrible place only to willfully walk into a worse situation would be foolish. For better or worse, perhaps staying right where she was would be the better course, bitter as the thought was. At least this Uruk had shown some small amount of concession toward her. At least he was unable to rape her. For now.

Fatigue was swiftly overtaking her fear of his return. She hoped he would stay away forever, yet she also hoped he would come back with food. Her stomach was empty, and had been for almost a day now. There was never a shortage of meat in the cells, only of other foodstuffs. Saruman wanted their bodies just healthy enough to accept the breeding. She had long since taught herself not to question where the meat came from. It was best not to.

Her thoughts were broken by the Uruk's return, and she stiffened with fear. Fixing her gaze on the fire, she willed herself not to look at him, though she saw from the corner of her eye that he held a brace of coneys by the ears in one great fist.

Standing still for a moment, he looked at her with his head cocked to the side. While he hunted with the intention of feeding her, he hadn't expected her to actually still be here. He was glad. He'd never spent a moment in solitude for all his short life; even stalking and bringing down these rabbits with his bare hands, for he had no weapons, was a longer time than he'd ever spent with no one about. It was an unsettling feeling. Made him nervous.

Grunting low with satisfaction, he sat on the log next to her and dropped one rabbit between his feet. He tore through the other rabbit's thin skin with the claw on his forefinger.

Eoforhild felt close to vomiting when the small animal's bowels slid from the incision and hung, dripping onto its fellow's fur. Her gorge rose alarmingly, and she hunched her shoulders, turning away from him. The Uruk glanced at her but carried on with the skinning.

The sound of his claws ripping through skin was so grotesquely familiar, she had to clamp down on the scream threatening to rise. She reached up and covered her mouth with a shaking hand. It was small consolation that he sought meat elsewhere than her body. The Uruk-hai who took her from her village were not so considerate of the women they tormented on the return trip.

Stripping the last of the rabbit's skin off, he handed the bloody corpse to the female. She startled and jerked back, refusing to take it. Huffing impatiently, he dropped it in front of her and picked up the other one. He didn't mind the skin so much; stripping it from hers was a courtesy he thought she might appreciate. Apparently not. Sighing, he sank his teeth into the rabbit's fur and savored the still-warm blood filling his mouth before tearing a chunk off.

Had her stomach contained anything, she would have emptied it on the ground. Now she clamped both hands over her mouth and fought to control the dry-heaving. The Uruk paused in his meal and looked at her.

"Not good?" he asked, his growling voice sounding bizarrely conversational.

Glancing at his face, she swiftly looked away. Blood dripped down his chin.

When she didn't answer, he nodded toward the carcass. "Eat."

She fixed her eyes on a tree opposite her, beyond the heat haze from the fire, and forced herself to speak. "I... I cannot eat... raw meat." She shuddered at the mere thought. "It makes me ill."

A low growl rumbled in his chest. Until now, he'd never had any use for whiteskins. He never understood why Master allied with Dunland, as though his Fighting Uruk-hai were not plentiful or mighty enough. The Dunlendings disdained him and his folk for every little thing they did, yet Master made the Uruk-hai restrain their natural urge to tear apart those who insulted them. One of the things they ridiculed of the Uruks was their preference for uncooked meat.

Perhaps it was because his Master's Voice was disjointed and distracted that allowed the Uruk to think on this more than he otherwise would. Master was begging for his shields to protect him, not urging them to fuck and kill. This female might be disgusted by his eating habits, but she wasn't _insulting_ him about them.

And she was pleasant enough to look at. That went a long way in staying his hand. Her hair wasn't like the yellowhairs', not much. Darker, certainly. Or dirtier. Hard to say. Scars about her face gave her a warrior's look, as one who had fought and survived. They lent her a savage beauty he never saw in a whiteskin's face before. He recalled the marks on her body, made by others. Also evidence of strength. She took such abuse and survived; she was to be admired. Looking him in the eyes impressed him as well. Never had a whiteskin female do that before.

Dropping his meal on the ground, he picked up hers and rummaged for a long stick. With brutal efficiency, he spitted the small carcass on the stick and propped it on a rock so the flames would cook it. Turning to the female, he growled, "Better?"

Accepting her swift nod with a pleased grunt, he picked up his rabbit and continued to eat. He felt rather content sitting beside her in silence, eating a meal without having to fight another for a morsel. It was good not to be interrupted by a challenger to his position in the pecking order as well. He could not remember a time when he could sit anywhere in peaceful quiet, and found that he enjoyed it.

She willed herself not to look at him again. Though inexplicably benign at the moment, he still terrified her. He was massive; broad shoulders and thick muscled arms spoke of his great strength, more than enough to split the tunnel's door asunder. Like others of his kind, this Uruk had a thick head of jet black hair, tangled and matted, sweeping past his shoulders. The blade-like tips of his pointed ears knifed through his unkempt tresses. His face, though Mannish by virtue of his making, was nevertheless harsh and brutal. A low forehead overshadowed piercing yellow eyes, a predator's eyes, and a heavy jaw supported sharp, jagged teeth and fearsome tusks. A predator's teeth.

Though she knew what the answers likely were, questions about his intentions for her burned in her mind to ask. Eoforhild did not wish to delay the inevitable any longer.

"Please," she whispered, "what do you want from me?"

Pausing with a mouthful of flesh, he turned and regarded her for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. "Stay," he replied, swallowing and wiping his bloody mouth on the back of his arm. "Want stay."

Flinching as though his words were physical blows, she cringed from him.

"Don't have to," he added. "Want yuh to."

Surprised, she slowly turned to look at him. "I don't... _have_ to stay with you?"

He sighed and shook his head, staring into the flames. Pointing at himself then her, he said, "Free now. Can go." Swallowing hard, he repeated, "Want stay."

Her long-held breath came out in a whoosh. She could not believe what he was saying. Such relief as she had not felt in so long filled her to the brim and she gasped, daring to smile. He looked at her oddly, tilting his head.

Quite suddenly, her joy dissolved and her lip quivered. She sagged. "I do not know where I am. I do not know where I _could_ go. But... I thank you." Tearing her eyes from his intense gaze, she whispered, "I do not understand why you saved me, but I am glad you do not hold me."

"Don't rat out," he said gruffly, and she met his eyes again. He looked almost embarrassed to be recalling his failure in the breeding room. "Owe yuh."

"What... what would have happened to you, if I had?" she asked timidly.

He shrugged, looking away. He half-heartedly poked the fire with a stick. "Pitmaster kill."

Startled, she frowned. "Why? You were injured. You will heal and... you will be... better," she began indignantly only to fade into a whisper, realizing what she was saying and to _whom_ she was saying it. She quickly looked away.

His brow furrowed as he glanced at her. "Master don't care. Can't do _now_, not worth nothin'." Nodding, he said, "Would kill. Right there. Pitmaster go fetch another tuh fuck you."

Missing the grimace that contorted her face, he sighed and went on, holding his thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart. "This close, die at Fords. Don't want die. Not afraid to," he said pointedly, glaring at her. She gave him a curious look. He snorted, hoping she understood he wasn't a coward. "Just don't want."

She never knew how cheap their lives were, she realized now. To be sentenced to death for a temporary thing? Because he could not satisfy his Master's orders in the moment they were given, he would be put down like a sick animal and replaced with another? Such things never occurred to her on her side of the cell door. What happened beyond... truly, her own misery was too great for her to wonder, and her tormenters too foul for her to spare a single thought for _their_ lives. She'd barely acknowledged that they _had_ an existence beyond what she saw of them.

"If I stay," she ventured slowly, "what will you do?"

He met her gaze and replied, "Protect you. Get meat. Keep warm." He gestured toward the campfire.

She swallowed hard. Her experiences in life had never been about charity. There was always a price.

"And... in exchange for these things... what... must I give you?" she asked quietly, her body already trembling in anticipation of the answer.

He shrugged. "You give fuck."

Wincing, she looked away. Her arms tightened about her body and she leaned forward, truly fearing that she would vomit now. A sob tore from her, and tears welled in her eyes.

Confused by her reaction, he said reasonably, "That price. That _always_ price."

"Can I not pay in some other way?" she asked shakily.

Frowning, he tilted his head. "What other way?"

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she sobbed, "I don't know. Anything. Among your folk, is there no other way?"

"Folk?" he asked uncertainly. "Uruk-hai?" She nodded, and he shrugged. "Price is fuck."

She blinked, startled out of her weeping by the casual way he said it. "For... for _everything_?"

He nodded. "Want better weapon, give fuck," he explained. "Want protect from bigger Uruk, give fuck. Want more meat, give fuck. Not strong, can't take, give fuck. That is way."

Incredulous, she stared at him. Though her past life had not spared her the strange notion of men who sought other men for their pleasures, she had ever felt uncomfortable with it. Even in the brothel, such preferences were only whispered about, never spoken of out loud. The infrequent requests were turned away politely, for the madam did not keep men for such purposes, so rare was their use. There simply was no profit in it, but of course the ladies had heard stories. There were always stories.

She had difficulty imagining such an act as _payment_ for goods or services. In her experience, the act _itself_ was the service, and payment was in the form of coins. This strange commerce among the Uruk-hai was difficult to grasp.

"Did you pay this price yourself?"

A troubled look crossed his face, and he growled, "Not all time." Puffing himself up, he thumped his chest with a fist. "Strong enough. Aandar want, Aandar take. Want better weapon, take. Hungry for meat, take." Yet his posturing only lasted a few moments. Sagging slightly, he said, "Some time... bigger Uruk take fuck from Aandar." He grimaced and looked away.

To her surprise, he appeared ashamed by this, though he had just said such payments were expected. She was beginning to see that things weren't quite so simple as she thought. "Why would they do that to you?" she asked quietly.

His mouth contorted in a snarl. "Put Aandar down. In my _place._ Don't like my place, so fuck them for _better_ place."

She found herself grimly fascinated. It seemed that the Uruk-hai not only used sex as a replacement for money, but as a means of establishing rank. _Putting him in his place_, she mused. Then it struck her, and her eyes widened in shock. By his words and expressions, she realized with horror that the Uruk-hai must dominate one another through rape.

"This is not how Men do things," Eoforhild said cautiously.

For a moment, his lip curled and he bristled. Snorting, he growled challengingly, "How Men do things?"

"Men pay for... services, food, better weapons... with coins," she replied. "Not with their bodies."

Aandar's eyebrows rose slightly. "What coins?"

"Money," she said. "Men use it to buy things. You earn it performing services, such as forging weapons or raising livestock for meat." She carefully avoided the subject of her own means of acquiring wealth. What would he say to such a revelation? Particularly when she said her folk did not use their bodies in place of money? She could not imagine that he would draw a distinction between his experience and hers.

If he knew, he would likely be less accommodating of her wish not to give him such payment.

Furrowing his brow thoughtfully, he said, "Men use coin."

Nodding, she said, "Yes."

His frown deepened. "What good coin to Uruk-hai?"

Her shoulders sagged, and she closed her eyes. "I suppose... no good at all."

"Don't want give fuck," Aandar said bluntly.

Shaking her head, she replied, "No. I do not."

"What _can_ give?" he asked.

"What else do you want?" she whispered.

He was silent for several moments, and she dared look at his face. His brow was furrowed in thought. It looked as though thinking was uncomfortable, almost painful. He rubbed his forehead roughly. His eyes squeezed shut and he grabbed his head in both hands, digging his claws into his hair and grimacing.

Taken aback, she asked, "Are you well?"

Gasping, he grunted, "Master call. Enemy come. Want Uruk-hai to fight." Baring his teeth in a snarl, he pushed it hard away. It took him a few more moments to get his mind back under his own control. He took deep breaths to calm the urge to follow, to obey, to die.

Intrigued, she said, "You _hear_ him."

Aandar nodded and met her gaze. The discomfort still lingering in his eyes surprised her, for it clearly had nothing to do with his injury.

"Master in head all time," he said quietly. "Orcs free. Don't call _them_. Uruk-hai _not_ free. Aandar free _here_," he snarled, thumping his chest. Then he tapped his temple with a clawed finger. "Not free _here_. Never free here."

"You hear his voice," she whispered, leaning a little closer. "What does he tell you?"

The Uruk closed his eyes and listened for a moment. His voice was a low rumble. "Want fight for him. Say, make fear. Say, hate."

"Wh-... whom do you hate?" she asked.

He opened his eyes and gazed at her. "Yellow hairs. Horsemen. Say, hate them. Kill them. Hurt them." His face twitched as his yellow eyes flicked down her body before returning to her eyes. "Fuck females. Make them _know_ we fuck females." He shrugged. "Don't know why."

A horrible realization came over her. "He told you to do those things. Your Master." He slowly nodded. She could feel her body beginning to tremble as memories returned. She squeezed her eyes shut so not to see him, so like those others. "What was done to... the people of my village... the women who were taken but not... saved for breeding... He told you to do all those things?"

"He say burn. He say kill. He say fuck. Uruk-hai do it. Cannot defy Master."

She did not want to know more, but could not help herself. "How could you do such things?" she hissed, her jaw clenched, her voice shaking.

Aandar gazed thoughtfully toward the fire. Shrugging, he replied, "Master say, do it, Uruk-hai do it. Feel good some time. Fuck feel good. Miss fuck. Fuck good." He noticed her retreating from him again. She seemed to cringe every time he mentioned fucking. His brow furrowed. "Take fuck, you go?"

Swallowing hard, she replied unsteadliy, "Yes. If you... do that, I will leave." She glanced at him. "I must... consider what I may give you. I do not know what... else... you may need."

He felt inexplicably relieved that she was not leaving _now_. "Need... some... one." He frowned with frustration. He'd never been good with the common tongue.

"You need... someone?" she ventured.

Nodding, he said, "Not alone. Not... ever alone. Don't like... alone. Need someone."

"Why did you not follow the Orcs?" she asked curiously.

He snorted derisively and chuckled as though it were obvious. "Orcs hate Uruk-hai."

"Do they?" she asked with surprise. She had to admit that this Uruk had shown her a world she never knew existed. In spite of her fear of him, she could not help being fascinated by many of the new things he revealed.

"_Akh_," he nodded. Leaning toward her, he said pointedly, "Follow them, they kill. Head on pike. Show Uruk-hai, don't follow Orcs."

"But... are they not... your kin?" she asked cautiously.

He grunted another harsh laugh. "No. Not kin. No more." He leveled a clawed finger at her. "Come from _you_. Orcs hate Men. Always hate. Hate Master for make Uruk-hai from Men. Say, tainted half-breed. Orcs hate us. See, kill." Grimacing, he growled, "Not Orc no more."

Then his countenance appeared troubled, almost sad. "Don't want alone."

"I fear I will not be able to protect _you_ from _them_," she said with slight amusement.

He snorted a laugh. "Don't need protect." Again, he thumped his chest proudly. "Aandar strong." Meeting her eyes, he said softly, almost desperately, "Just need... you... here."

"Would that be... a good price?" she ventured cautiously. "If I stay with you? Worth your protection, your hunting, and your fire? Would it be enough?"

"No fuck?" he asked, disappointed.

Wincing, Eoforhild said, "Please do not ask that of me." Remembering not only his words before, but how he said them, she asked pointedly, "Did _you_ give it willingly? Or was it taken from you?"

He curled his lip and growled a warning, but she held her ground. Snorting, he grudgingly replied, "Taken." Turning from her, his shoulders sagged. "Uruk take fuck from Aandar, shame Aandar." A moment passed as the realization sunk in, and he slowly turned to her. "Aandar take fuck... shame _you_."

She tried not to show how great her relief was that this Uruk, perhaps of all of them, seemed to finally understand. "Yes," she nodded. "_Shamed_ me. So much shame..." Her chin quivered, and she felt tears returning. "Please... no more shame." She hugged her middle and took deep breaths to calm herself.

Aandar's mind rolled back, leaving his face slack with surprise. All the females he'd fucked – and there had been many – seemed different now. While he preferred a fighter to one so used by others she no longer protested, he now wondered whether it was right. He'd always thought that, if he won the fight, he'd won the right to claim his prize. Because he enjoyed fucking, that's what he took. But had those females, even the ones with defiance still alive within them, really stood a chance against him? Was it a _fair_ fight?

Perhaps he wouldn't have concerned himself even now, except his Master's voice was barely a whisper for the moment, and he was able to _think_. He remembered some of their faces, little different from this female's. His brow furrowed, recalling the weeping, the desperate pleas, the feeble blows growing weaker each moment...

Then he remembered the barracks, and those unfortunate enough to be targeted by a larger Uruk spoiling for a fight. Often, the fight became a fuck. Nearly always, the one fucked by the larger Uruk was too done in to keep from getting fucked by several others drawn to the scent and the act. Even those with a bit of fight left in them were held down if enough wanting a go at him were around. Aandar was more often on the top of the pile, but had been a hapless victim on the bottom a few times himself, enduring the punishing assaults of a dozen without respite, unable to defend himself. The only thing he could do was memorize their faces for later vengeance.

Which he took. He at least had _that_ to boast of.

The breeding room came to mind quite suddenly now, and he looked at this female. She was strapped to a table; she could not fight him as those he fucked during a raid could. The scars she bore were not honorably given in battle, for she could not fight. She'd been as helpless as he. Fucking her, had he been able, would not have been fair because he didn't fight for it. Neither had those who'd whelped her before he even got there. But then, would she have had a chance to beat him, even to defend herself with any possibility of success, when no others had before her? Would it have been a _fair_ fight? He found these thoughts troubling.

He let out a long exhale. "Aandar shame female, shame Uruk," he said slowly. "Uruk shame Aandar. Uruk shame you in pit. Same."

"Yes," she said, nodding. "It is the same. It is a horror, it is pain, it is _shame_."

He nodded slowly, his face showing that he understood now. "Won't take fuck. No shame." He grimaced. "Shame not good."

"No, it is not," she agreed.

"You... _give_ fuck," he suggested, "no shame?"

She stiffened, but restrained the urge to glare at him for his harping on the subject. "I do not think that I can give that to you." A shudder ran through her, and she grimaced with remembered revulsion. "Too many of your... kind have taken it from me."

"Aandar not take fuck from you," he pointed out. "Won't take. You give."

Staring at him incredulously, she asked, "You will wait until I give it to you?" He shrugged and nodded, and she almost laughed. "Why do you want it so badly?"

"Made that way," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Made _what_ way?" she asked uncertainly.

"Made tuh want fuck. Always."

She could not have been more surprised, and her mouth fell open. Now she understood _why_ sex and rape were the common currencies among them. It was a commodity always in demand, not unlike among her own folk. Eoforhild might have had no options whatsoever had trading her body for coin not presented itself. She might have been a farm wife if all the men had not been called to war, likely not to return. Or she might have been reduced to begging on the streets. She realized that, to spare herself such uncertainties, she gave fucking to any who could pay.

Were her people truly all that different from his?

"You cannot be serious. All the time?" she asked, disbelieving.

He nodded. "Always." Then his brow furrowed solemnly. "Don't want shame you. Won't take fuck." Grimacing, he looked away. "Can't take nothin'." He glanced hatefully at his lap.

"You will heal," she said, "and it will come back."

Looking up at her hopefully, he said, "Promise?"

"Yes," she said tightly. "I promise. But you must promise _me_ you will not take it from me."

He nodded. "Promise. Won't take fuck." Yet still, he knew he would still want it, and would try to coax it from her. He was not accustomed to resisting the need. There was always someone to fuck, willingly or not. He never had to see to it himself with his own hand. There were plenty who'd do that for him as well, willingly or not. Though he never went back on his word, once given, he wasn't quite sure how to handle the situation once the promised recovery brought him back to normal.

Perhaps she might change her mind. She must be free to do so, or she would leave him. He could not bear that. "Won't take fuck," he repeated reassuringly.

"Thank you," Eoforhild sighed gratefully.


	3. Chapter 3

Turning her attention back to the slowly roasting coney, Eoforhild tried not to pay particular attention to Aandar. In this way, she could pretend she was not sitting next to one of the wizard's monsters. Yet she did not need to see him to be uncomfortably aware of him. He had torn the flesh from his rabbit and had started cracking the bones to noisily suck out the marrow. Each snap seemed to echo in the silence of the late afternoon and make her cringe.

"Meat good," he murmured half to himself as he licked his fingers. "Not fresh, most time. No blood." Gesturing at the pile of discarded eviscera between his feet, he grunted. "Blood good." Eoforhild blanched and averted her eyes. Noticing her reaction, Aandar sighed.

"What eat?" he growled. She darted an uncertain look at him.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," she replied.

"You," he said, pointing at her. "What eat?" Waving a hand at the spitted rabbit, he snapped, "Don't like meat. What eat?"

"I... _do_ like meat," she said. "I prefer it cooked, that's all. I eat other things besides meat, though, if that is what you are asking."

He nodded. "Ask. What eat?"

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "there were vegetables from farmers. We had bread. Once in awhile, fruit as well." Glancing at his furrowed brow, she smiled a little. "Fruit is sweet, and difficult to come by... where I lived. But we were never in want of bread. Several of the ladies were..." She stopped herself and spared him another cautious glance. He seemed wrapped in her words, yet not making any unwelcome conclusions. She relaxed somewhat. "Some were quite good at baking."

"Only meat. Bread bad," Aandar said, feeling almost as though he'd been cheated. He'd eaten bread in Isengard and found it to be one degree of foul or another most of the time. He had no concept of vegetables or fruits, and so dismissed them. Yet it seemed the female's experience was broader, and he was curious.

Eoforhild nodded in agreement. "The bread was indeed vile, I must say. I don't suppose..." Halting, she reminded herself with whom she was sitting. This was not some young man visiting the brothel, nor was it a tradesman come to sell foodstuffs for the larder. He was a killer and a rapist. She was not sure she wanted to become familiar with him as though he were not.

Tilting his head, he frowned and prompted, "Suppose what?"

"I... only wondered who... who might have baked it," she breathed.

"Hmph," he snorted, turning back to the fire. He began methodically breaking sticks in pieces and tossing them in amongst the flames. "_Snaga_ most like. Cook for Dunland fucks. Eat bread. Cook meat." He spat on the ground and curled his lip disdainfully. "Say, Uruk bad. Say, Uruk dumb. Say, Uruk suck cock. Dunland suck _Master_ cock. Dunland don't _know_ suck Master cock. _Pushdugûrzu flâgîtu_." Grinning and shaking his head, he laughed.

"So... you believe cooking meat... is a bad thing?" Eoforhild asked cautiously. She didn't particularly want further details on the more... ribald references. The last time she was intrigued by the complexities of his life, she was introduced to some very disquieting things.

Sobering, Aandar regarded her. "Not you. Dunland fucks. You not Dunland. You..." His brow furrowed deeply. "What name?"

Swallowing hard, she said, "Eoforhild."

Aandar grimaced at the difficult word. "_Nar_," he said, shaking his head. "Too big. Need small." Appraising her a moment, a slow smile curved his mouth. "Thaktor." That was a good name for her, he decided. In his opinion, it described her well. Yet she did not seem pleased.

"I do not wish to be called by another name than my own," she said stiffly. "Not anymore."

"Not like?" he snarled harshly. Eoforhild flinched, expecting him to strike her. His growl quieted somewhat. "Why not like?" he asked more calmly.

"I do not know what it means," she said evasively. Truly, could he understand what it had been like, being branded with a number, her own name driven into hiding by the Pitmaster's lash and the wizard's lists and ledgers? To be categorized as little more than a broodmare, yet less respected than the horses her folk so loved?

A boyish grin curved Aandar's mouth. "_Thak_ mean _face_," he informed her, reaching up to brush her cheek with the back of a clawed finger. She startled from the unexpectedly soft touch. "_Tor_ mean... nice look at. See, good."

She darted a glance at him and found his expression did not seem to be teasing or taunting. Her hand rose of its own accord to lightly touch her own cheek. Eoforhild could _feel_ the raggedly-healed scars left by the first Uruk. Her eyes widened and her chin began to tremble. She lurched from the log she was sitting on and staggered away.

Dumbfounded, Aandar watched her abrupt departure, and a moment of panic gripped him. He thought she was going to leave _entirely_. But she only went to a large tree nearby and sagged against it. Her shoulders shook and she covered her face in her hands.

There was, actually, very little Aandar understood about whiteskins. One of the things that baffled him was the leaking eyes business. He wasn't certain, but it looked a bit like that was what was happening here. Standing up with a slight wince, he limped over to her and breathed in her scent.

She was still afraid of him, so nothing had changed from when he first reached for her in the tunnel. This reaction made no sense. "Thaktor," he murmured, "what wrong?"

"Please do not call me that," she hissed over her shoulder, but did not turn around.

"Why?" he asked. "Insult?"

"You cannot understand," she muttered.

"Not dumb," he snarled. "Tell. Why?"

Releasing a shuddering breath, Eoforhild hugged herself and closed her eyes. "I used to be... beautiful... in the eyes of Men. Many... preferred me over... over others, and I... benefitted from such... regard." Glancing back at him, she winced and looked away quickly. He was alarmingly close, perhaps only a few feet away, and looking at her so intently, she felt a spark of anger flare. "Your kind _butchered_ my beauty," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I have nothing... _nothing_ left of it. You _mock_ me with such a name. _That_ is 'insult.'"

Aandar wasn't quite sure what to think, certainly not what to say. Her scars were what made her so beautiful to him. Surely she was as proud of her marks as he was of his! But he remembered hers were not received in battle, nor was she able to pay them back in kind. There were, admittedly, some of his own he did not care to brag of.

"No insult," he said. "Face... not ugly. Body... not ugly. Aandar like." He smiled, hoping she'd be pleased.

Her shoulders shook with bitter mirth. "Fit only for Orcs, then," she said quietly.

"_Nar_," he purred, stepping closer. "Fit for Aandar." His clawed hands closed on her upper arms and he nuzzled the back of her neck. She stiffened and shivered, then whimpered and easily pulled from his loose grip.

Turning, she stepped backwards, retreating from him. He was stunned by the terror in her face. "You _promised_! You said you wouldn't!"

He blinked, uncomprehending for a moment. Seeing how she shielded herself, he tilted his head with impatience. "_Akh_, Aandar promise. Don't break word. No fuck, just touch. That all."

Taking a deep breath, she fought to pull herself together. Her heart was racing. "Do not touch me. _Please_. You... you frighten me."

"Aandar promise," he insisted angrily. "No _fuck_. Don't promise not touch. Don't want touch now?"

She stared at him incredulously, and wished desperately that she was wearing a more dignified dress than his over-sized tunic that only reached to mid-thigh. She most certainly did _not_ want him taking liberties with so little barrier between his roaming hands and...

Eoforhild had not been remotely prudish since she began whoring, but there was a familiarity in such engagement. Those men were her own kind, they understood the limits according to what was paid, and though often repellent, their touch was _familiar._ Though minimal given her profession, she retained some measure of control over the situation. Were she to allow Aandar to run his hands all over her, _his_ familiarity would put her back in Isengard, back in the breeding room, and back into helplessness.

He'd already admitted to being insatiable. She felt certain touching her would not be all he did, promise be damned. Though he seemed different from the others, he was still _one of them_, and he was repellent to her.

Gritting her teeth, she snarled, "I do not trust you, Aandar. Or your word."

Leveling a clawed finger at her, he growled, "_You_ insult."

"What do you expect?" she cried. "What have I seen of your folk? Brutal monsters with but one intent: slaughter and rapine. There is no trusting a beast that cannot think but of cruelty and misery."

"Not beast!" he roared, quivering in fury. "Aandar not beast! Not dumb! Can think other thing. You insult. Like Master. Like Dunland. _No_ better." He slashed the air with his flattened hand. "All time, better than Aandar. _All_ better than Aandar. Master say, shut mouth. Master say, follow Dunland leader. Master not give _fuck_ for Aandar! Uruk-hai leader say, _Akh_,_ Shark__û__, akh, Goth, paash-izg zuat ghru-lab, Shark__û__!_ On knee, suck _Shark__û_ cock, not give fuck for Aandar, only leader!"

Gasping for breath, he stood there seething and glaring at her. Eoforhild clutched the neck of the tunic he'd given her and stared at him, afraid yet aware of the bitter disappointment in his words. "Your... leader... did not defend you?"

He blinked at her for a moment, then snapped, "_Nar_, not defend. Make shut mouth. Get Pitmaster; say, shut Aandar mouth. Aandar mouth run too much. Dunland insult. Leader say, take it. Say, Aandar not kill Dunland. Pitmaster say, put Aandar in piss-pit; that shut Aandar mouth."

Eoforhild's eyes widened. "What? You were put where?"

"Piss-pit," he said succinctly, curling his lip in remembered indignation. "Two day, get piss and shit from Uruk-hai. No meat, no drink, just piss and shit."

"Had you killed someone, and this was your punishment?" she asked with disgust.

Taken aback, Aandar snarled, "_Nar_, not kill. _Want_ kill, but no kill. Big mouth don't shut, Pitmaster say. Big... dumb... mouth." His brow furrowed and his head bowed. He turned away sharply and went to slump sullenly on the log.

Leaning back against the tree, she regarded the Uruk. His was positively the _worst_ grasp of the common tongue she'd ever encountered in her albeit limited exposure within Isengard. It hadn't occurred to her that this might be a source of ridicule for him, or that he would feel something akin to embarrassment from such a shortcoming.

She also realized that she _had_ insulted him. He'd shown remarkable restraint. It was not just rape she knew these creatures to indulge with their victims. He could easily entertain himself in a myriad other ways. While there was no doubt in her mind that he had done the sorts of things that plagued her dreams, for whatever reason he was not doing them _now_. She must not give him a reason to change his mind on that score.

"Aandar," she said timidly, yet could not quite bring herself to approach him. He glanced briefly at her, a scowl still on his face. "I... apologize. You have given your word. I... believe you."

He didn't look at her, but he nodded sharply and snorted. Then he rose and stretched, roughly rubbing his injured back. Eoforhild stiffened and watched him carefully, but he seemed to have no more sinister purpose in mind than to gather more wood for the fire. She breathed a sigh of relief that he did not seem overtly sore about the conversation.

The sun was beginning to set, casting the already cold mountainside into late winter's chill. As Aandar was ensuring they had enough firewood to last the night, and keeping the flames high enough to warm them, she wondered what the sleeping arrangement was meant to be. The thought startled her into renewed panic.

Yet the smell of her well-cooked meal of rabbit began to seep past her fears, and she found herself edging back to the fire. Sitting cautiously a few feet from the Uruk busying himself with arranging the wood to burn steadily through the night, she took up the skewer and blew delicately on the sizzling carcass to cool it. He darted a curious look at her, but otherwise paid her little mind.

Night was coming on quickly, so Aandar began clearing a spot next to the fire for sleeping. This was often how it was when on the march with his fellows; bare earth and the hope you'd picked the spot without a root or stone to plague you all night. He ran his hands over the cold, hard-packed dirt carefully, feeling out even the smallest pebbles and casting them aside. He made sure he cleared enough ground for them both.

Physical contact was so pervasive among the Uruk-hai that it didn't immediately occur to him that Thaktor, being a whiteskin, might not want him up against her as they slept. In the barracks, when things calmed down enough for sleep, they lay clustered and pressed tight, resting heads on another's limbs or with arms draped over another's torso. True, there was often a fair amount of groping and pawing, but it was of a friendly sort. He didn't mind a lesser Uruk jerking his cock of a morning, as long as it wasn't expected of _him_.

But as sometimes happened, someone bigger than Aandar made an undeniable 'request,' and it was either take him in hand or get it rammed down your throat. Aandar always chose the hand.

It was strange to imagine resting without two or three dozen of his fellows curled up around and beside him, their warm bodies a comforting press against his, the growling snores lulling him contentedly. Such closeness gave a sense of _belonging_ he got nowhere else, not even in the exchanges of idle banter in the mess hall or on the march. He wanted this closeness with Thaktor, for she was beautiful, soft, and warm. Her scent was fascinating to him; he'd never been in the company of a whiteskin female long enough to note what they _smelled_ like. Now he had time and freedom to explore her.

Sitting down in the cleared space, he looked expectantly at her. She was delicately biting small pieces off the coney with her flat teeth. Sometimes as she chewed, her eyes closed and she sighed. He guessed she hadn't gotten fresh meat any more often than he, and smiled in understanding.

When she finished and set the coney down (still with plenty of good bits left, he noticed with consternation), he said quietly, "Thaktor, come. Lie here." He patted the ground next to him.

Eoforhild slowly turned her head. She'd expected it, but was not sure she was ready to be so close to him. Perhaps he wasn't one of the ones who assaulted her, and perhaps... _perhaps_... they were not entirely guilty in the torments they inflicted, if their Master was manipulating their minds as Aandar said, but he was still an Uruk, and memories of their treatment were still fresh.

Yet could she prevail against him if he demanded her compliance? She knew she could not, and slowly rose. Taking a deep breath, she reluctantly approached him.

"What do you want from me, Aandar?" she breathed unsteadily.

He laid his hand flat on the space next to him. "Lie here," he said firmly. "By Aandar. Close. Warm. Feel good." Because she was flinching some more and had turned her face from him, he added, "No fuck. Promise."

Closing her eyes, she decided to make some sort of stand. She did not want to be his slave, accepting yet another person's will suppressing her own. Perhaps it was a small thing, but she'd been separated from it for so long, to have it back in her own hands gave her so much relief. It was _almost_ as though her life were returning to normal. Holding her chin up, she said tightly, "You must... call me by my name, or I will not lie next to you."

"Thaktor," he rumbled quietly, patting the ground again. "Come. Lie."

"No," she said firmly. "That is not my name. I told you my name. I will not lie next to you unless you say it."

Aandar growled deeply, then huffed with impatience. Furrowing his brow in concentration, he tried to remember the strange-sounding word she'd said, and came up with a jumble of vowels with no meaning. Uruk names were easy; they put pictures in your head when you said them. _Her_ name did nothing.

He supposed he could _make_ her lie down. But she was free, as was he. He wouldn't want her to order _him_ about or make him do things he didn't want to do. He had plenty of stripes across his back to prove how much he hated that. And besides, she'd do it, he just needed to do one small thing; say that weird word. Not so hard.

Except he couldn't remember it.

Grunting, he gave up trying to remember and asked as nicely as he could, "What name?"

Sighing with annoyance, she said, "Eoforhild."

Frowning, he rolled the name over and over in his mind, testing it, tasting it, examining it. He did not know its meaning, but it must mean _something_. Names _always_ meant something. That he didn't understand what _his_ meant was immaterial. He knew the word in common but had no idea what it _meant_. Or what the Pitmaster was talking about when he said, 'What good _you'll_ be is the mystery.' It didn't make sense.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he concentrated on _her_ name. When he felt he had probed and prodded it enough, he looked up at her and said slowly, "Eh... oh... for... hild." Her eyebrows rose a touch, and he felt more confident. "Eh-oh-for-hild," he said more quickly, yet still beating the syllables out like a dusty rug.

Eoforhild had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. He seemed so like a very young man in his eagerness to please and quick hurt when insulted. She was beginning to see that his face, though brutal and dark-skinned, was very expressive. Perhaps his eyes pierced, but the rest of his face was open and almost friendly at times.

_A beast may hide in ambush_, she reminded herself, and her smile faded.

"Eoforhild," he said triumphantly.

A small sense of relief at the victory eased her tension somewhat. Nodding, she said, "Promise to use it, if you please. Call me Eoforhild."

Sagging with disappointment, he grumbled, "Call Eoforhild. Not... not Thaktor." Then he added under his breath rather petulantly, "Like Thaktor. Remember Thaktor. Don't remember Eoforhild."

"It is not _that_ difficult," she said defensively, then froze as he leveled a glare at her. "I do not mean..."

"Not... _dumb_," he snarled. "Eoforhild say nothing. Thaktor say all. Say Thaktor, see _you_." He gestured with both hands, as though to cup her head in them, though she was several feet away. "Say Eoforhild, see _nothing_. _Mean_ nothing."

"Oh," Eoforhild said in sudden comprehension as she slowly knelt in front of him. "You do not know what it means, and that makes it... difficult to recall. Then... does _your_ name mean something?"

Nodding, he sat up and pointed at the center of his chest. For the first time, she made herself look there. She'd only glanced at his back; she'd not made note of his front. The firelight did little to show the scar he was pointing to, yet she was able to make out twin undulating lines in horizontal orientation, perhaps a handspan across and separated by roughly two fingers of distance. It seemed a terribly crude representation of water.

Looking up at his face, she asked, "Your name means water?"

He chuckled. "_Nar_. Aandar mean 'mystery.'" He shrugged and waved vaguely at his chest. "Don't know _this_. Don't know 'mystery.' Pitmaster give name, burn Uruk-hai with name."

She felt rather certain she knew _why_ he was called 'mystery' in his own tongue, for he presented such a large one to her, even as he revealed the greater mystery of his time in Isengard. Staring at his scar, she recalled her own brand, and raised her arm to look at it now, when she had purposely avoided it up to this point.

Even such a brief glance filled her mind with screams of torment, and she hastily looked away.

"What Eoforhild mean?" Aandar asked.

Shaking herself, she replied, "Nothing... interesting. I believe it means 'boar battle' or somesuch nonsense. My father hoped for a strong child." She bowed her head sadly. Her only consolation for the destruction of that town was that it was not the one she was raised in, and so her parents were not there. She'd shamed them enough even before she was taken.

"What part mean 'battle'?" the Uruk asked curiously, tilting his head.

"The 'hild' part."

He grunted and nodded. "Eoforhild strong. Go to pits. Live. Bad in pits. No battle, just shame."

"The battle has not ended," she whispered.

Looking at her oddly, he said, "What battle?"

"Memories," she said quietly, staring at the ground between them. "Painful memories."

He watched her for several moments. While her eyes did not leak, she still seemed sad. He rarely saw sad Orcs; never saw sad Uruk-hai. Mostly what made an Orc sad was missing his mate, for they were not allowed within the valley.

Aandar didn't even know what a mate _was_, certainly not what would make it so wonderful that its absence saddened an Orc. But it was always the answer whenever he asked.

"Eoforhild miss mate?" he suggested. She startled and looked up at him in surprise.

"What makes you say that?" she asked.

"Sad. Orc sad, say, miss mate. Yuh miss mate?"

She swallowed hard and felt herself trembling a bit more than before. "I... have no mate. I am... sad... because I miss my home. My family. My... my friends."

"What family?" he asked curiously. "What friends?"

She took a long shuddering breath. "My family... is my mother and father. I have an older brother. He has likely gone to fight for our king. My friends are... those I... work with." She refused to look at him, and told herself that she had told him quite enough about her 'friends.' No further details should be given.

His head kept tilting to the side, his brow furrowed. "Mother?"

Wincing, she decided to put a stop to his endless banter now. He obviously wanted to know what the word meant, but she did not wish to discuss what a mother was when she had been forced to bear the spawn of his kind several times. So soon after gaining her freedom from that place, and escaping a fourth foul begetting, seemed a grossly inappropriate moment to even bring up the subject. And should he _continue_ with his inquiry, the matter of her 'friends' might lead to revelations she was not inclined to make. "Please. I do not wish to talk about it. I want to sleep."

"_Akh_," he nodded agreeably, and lay on his side. He pillowed his head on his arm.

Turning her back to him, Eoforhild reluctantly lay down with a good two feet between them. Surely this would satisfy him. She was just settling as comfortably as she could when he spoke.

"Touch? Please?"

Tensing, she hissed, "I do not want to touch you, _nor_ do I want your hands on me."

He huffed behind her, clearly disgruntled by her refusal. "Promise, keep yuh warm. Touch warm."

"The fire is doing quite well," she said tightly, even as a slight breeze struck her lightly-clothed body and she shivered.

Sighing, he said quietly, "Need touch. Need Eoforhild close."

His voice was pleading, she realized. Harsh as it was normally, it seemed almost sadly desperate now. Though no anger hardened his voice, she did not trust that he would remain calm, for she knew he would continue to ask. She was taught well by the Pitmaster the folly of defiance.

Shuddering, she gingerly moved backwards into the curve of his body. She felt _his_ heat nearly as much as the campfire's. It gave her pause; she'd never actually been embraced by one of them. They stood at the end of the table to do their business, and made no effort to draw her close. She'd been glad of their coldness, for intimacies in such a situation would have been even more horrific.

But now she was finding that they were _not_ cold by any means. Aandar's body was quite warm indeed. Almost... comforting. She shook that thought away as dangerous. _Do not let your guard down._

He drew up his legs, curling forward against her and obliging her to curl forward as well. This put her backside in contact with his manhood. Though flaccid, she could _feel_ it.

Again, she wished for voluminous layers of skirting to protect her nakedness from him, regardless that he still wore his leather breeches. They did not seem to diminish her awareness of him. To add to her discomfort, he wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her even closer to him. She stiffened and sucked in a frightened breath.

"No fuck, just touch," he breathed close to her ear. "No fuck."

Eoforhild tried hard to relax into sleep, for she was truly exhausted. In the span of one day, she had faced death in myriad forms. Her life was saved by the last person she could have imagined doing so. Behind her, the Uruk's breathing was already evening out and growing deep.

She woke up that morning in a dank cell hundreds of feet below the earth, expecting to die. _Hoping_ to die, for the humiliation and pain of the 'breeding' were too much to bear. She would have defined a 'good day' as one which saw her death at the hands of an overly-rough Uruk at the table. Failing that, she might have died during the brutal fortnight of accelerated growth, sucked dry by the parasite within her. In the end, the gorey extraction would have finished her for good and all. It was a relief she clung to.

Unexpectedly, all her 'plans' for the day were set to ruin by a simple debt from an Uruk. She'd taken his part for selfish reasons, she knew; she didn't want someone worse. Though he'd likely bruised her, and she was still a trifle sore, it was not as bad as what she'd endured before.

It was disturbing to acknowledge that, had she not aided him in fooling the Pitmaster, he would not have been simply replaced by another and sent back to the ranks. He was chosen for this particular duty; if he could not fulfill it, his use was ended. By his own words, he would have been slain where he stood.

She had truly saved his life. And as any Man bound by honor would do, he reciprocated, saving hers in return.

Eoforhild might have attributed his deed to simple lust or collecting spoils on the way out, but for his own words: 'Owe yuh.' So he must have considered it a debt owed. But now that debt had been paid, and they were even, weren't they?

Perhaps now it was a matter of survival. She did not know where they were, though she guessed it must be the Misty Mountains. It was a hostile place, to be sure. Yet she was no use to him for protection. Her 'talents' did not include swordplay of the kind required in the wilds. He seemed content for the time being to deny his natural lusts in exchange for her presence, but for how long?

Or was his aversion to solitude so profound he'd pay any price?

Even as the thought formed in her mind, she felt him shift slightly and purr like a cat with a belly full of milk and a gentle hand stroking its fur. She could even feel the vibration in his chest against her back. She wondered at the sound he made, but stiffened with alarm when his encircling arm moved.

With one lazy movement she might have blocked had she been ready for it, Aandar shifted his hand up from her waist to cover her breast. She lay paralyzed, afraid to move. His rumbling seemed to stutter for a moment as his fingers lightly squeezed.

She willed herself to remain still, biting back a protest. A whimper of fear escaped her. She still believed if she woke him, he would finish what he started rather than honor his word.

Yet he only cupped her breast, sparing her his claws. Settling in with a contented sigh, he drifted deeper into sleep, holding her snugly against him.

Drawing a shuddering breath, Eoforhild slowly let her tensions ease a bit. Though she felt trapped, it did not seem like the same sort of entrapment she felt before. Her jailor had given her the keys to her cell, as it were. If he were to be believed, to be _trusted_, she was free to leave if she wished.

Now that he was quiet again, she went over the things he'd said and done since the breeding room, and asked herself if this were truly so repellent an arrangement. Her beauty was destroyed, albeit by his kind, but _not by him_. Even if her town had not been leveled by the raiding Uruk-hai and Dunlendings, she would not be able to return there.

It was hurtful enough being whispered about behind her back for a choice she had made. She received many hateful glares from women whose husbands sought her or other ladies' services in the brothel. She did not wish to be the object of scorn for something she had no ability to prevent.

Her folk were known to her, with all their virtues and faults. There might be a scrap of pity shown her from those sharing her profession, but no others. What was done to her would be impossible to hide; she bore the marks of Isengard upon her face and body. The whispered words would surely imply that her whoring had gotten her what she deserved. That she complied with the wizard's demands and aided his goals. That she willingly spread her legs for his Orcs, because she's a whore, and a whore doesn't care who or what fucks her.

It would never occur to the people she'd known that even a whore can be raped.

In truth, Aandar knew nothing of her past. For him, she came into existence when he entered the breeding room. Unbelievably, he saved her from death with so little acquaintance, when the Pitmaster who'd been her tormenter for months did not spare her a glance as he scampered off to save his own hide. Should she condemn Aandar for the deeds of all his folk, or for those of the Pitmaster, or even the wizard?

Or should she give him a chance? Let him be her protector and try to ease his loneliness. No others of his kind escaped through that tunnel; as far as they could know, he alone of his kind survived. Perhaps that morning, she would have been smug over his loss, but now... He was more than a nameless Uruk sent to rape her. He was a person who had experiences that were, perhaps, more brutal than her own. He had strengths and weaknesses like anyone.

He also had feelings that could be hurt, and the capacity to extend comfort to another. Where had _these_ things come from?

As she pondered the question, she decided he'd been well-named.

* * *

**Translations:**

_Pushdugûrzu flâgîtu_ = Dungfilthy idiots (converting the noun, _pushdug_ into a plural adjective to describe _flâgît_)

_Thaktor_ = lovely face

_Akh_,_ Shark__û__, akh, Goth, paash-izg zuat ghru-lab, Shark__û__!_ = Yes, old man, yes, master, can I suck your cock, old man! (_Shark__û_, meaning 'old man,' is how the Uruk-hai refer to Saruman)

**A/N:** Among my Uruk-hai, blow jobs are generally indicative of submission to a more powerful individual. Not a particularly 'mutual' thing at all, and often used in reference to bowing down without a fight or 'selling out.'


	4. Chapter 4

Birdsong called Aandar from slumber, and his yellow eyes slowly opened to the grey morning. Sometime during the night, he'd rolled away from Thaktor... Eoforhild, and was now lying flat on his back. The ache from his injury seemed to have lessened, to his relief. Then a slight smile curved his mouth; he could feel a bit of response in his cock. A quick glance told him all was well. Or well enough. It was not a full hardening, but it was better than what he discovered in the breeding room, to his shame.

Sighing, he relaxed. He didn't need to look to know Eoforhild still lay at his side, curled in a ball. But he looked anyway.

His ragged tunic failed to cover her backside completely, and his brow rose with interest. The swell of her hips, the fullness of her thighs, the rounded contours of her behind were well and thoroughly marked by his fellows. While the sight of her bare flesh stirred his cock to a few degrees more stiffness, his brow furrowed. He'd dreamed of her, he now remembered.

Always before, Aandar's dreams were of fire; a destructive fire, as of a village or homestead. There were whiteskins aplenty, their cries of fear as they ran setting his body aflame as he chased them. There was blood as well, bright red blood filling his mouth and spraying his body as he viciously freed it from the whiteskins with his sword. The tortured screams, the pitiful wails... and fucking. Always there was fucking. The fucking was plentiful in such dreams. He liked fucking.

The odd thing, now that he thought about it, was that these dreams were disjointed and familiar only in their themes. They were not _memories_. While he did the things he dreamed, he did not dream the things he _did_. Yet when he woke, he desperately wanted to _do_ the things he dreamed.

Last night, he hadn't dreamed of them _at all_.

He dreamed of water. Not the terrifying rush of it or the steady, relentless rising that made his heart thunder in his chest in an unfamiliar panic in the tunnel. Yet it was nearly as frightening in its silent calm. There was a circular pool in a forest, and he stood at one end of it up to his waist. His immediate response was fear; he seemed alone in a quiet, calm place where he could sense no enemies, yet he did not trust that they weren't simply well-hidden. Then he saw that he was _not_ alone.

His Thaktor was there opposite him. She sat upon the sandy bank of the pool with her knees drawn up and her arms hugging her legs. Her head was bowed so that her hair – a lighter color than he'd seen – hung down about her beautifully scarred face as a curtain, concealing her from his eyes. She did not look at him, nor did she appear inclined to join him in the pool, though the water lapped at her feet.

There were certainties in dreams, he realized. In this one, he was certain that he wanted her to come to him, and just as certain that she would not do so if he asked. Her sadness was another certainty, as was his desire to please her. He knew also, as if the dreamscape gave him perfect clarity and full understanding of all her secrets, that if he somehow made her smile – a _true_ smile, a warm smile – she would come to him. But only if he managed to convince her that he meant no harm.

Thinking on it now as he looked at her sleeping form, he found that his hand was hovering near her bare hip, wanting to touch. Just a touch, not a fuck. She'd made her thoughts clear on that, at least. Taking a deep breath, he let his hand have its way for a moment, and his fingers brushed the smooth flesh between two long scars made by the clutching, grasping hand of another. Her skin shivered, and she whimpered though she did not awake.

_Thaktor_, he thought sadly, _I won't take anything from you. How can I make you understand?_ He knew the answer to that, of course. She didn't know the dark tongue of the Orcs that he'd preferred learning over the Man's tongue, and he could speak so little of the latter it was a struggle to make himself understood to anyone. He knew what was said to him, or the general idea if it got too complicated, but dredging those words up to speak them himself was nigh impossible. He could swear and curse and threaten quite effectively in Orkish, yet all he'd ever proven by his rudimentary grasp of Westron was that he was a dull-witted idiot.

He tried to improve if only to stop the insults, but none agreed to teach him better once his shortcoming became a source of ridicule. His own burbling tongue, always wanting to talk and joke and laugh with the others, generally earned him jeering instead. Then his temper would flare, a fight would begin, and he further amused his abusers with his furious, and nearly incoherent, sputtering in Westron. It was his own temper that was his undoing, and earned him more than one trip to the piss-pit. The Uruk officer who ran his barracks finally got the keys to the pit so he wouldn't have to involve the Pitmaster every time he felt Aandar's running mouth needed a reason to shut.

His musings were interrupted by a rumble in his stomach, and he decided he could ponder such things while he hunted. His head was somewhat quiet, as though his master had other things than his Uruk-hai on his mind at the moment. Or, Aandar thought with a sense of dread, there were none left to order about. He shook that thought off. It was not something he wished to worry himself about.

Rising, he tended the fire, stoking it up to a roaring blaze. Gazing longingly at her for a moment, he loped off into the denser trees surrounding their little clearing.

Aandar was a passable hunter; the Uruk-hai inherited sharp feral senses from their Orkish progenitors. He could smell out almost any beast. When a raiding party left Isengard, they were generally given few rations; there was no sense in wasting a load of meat on Uruk-hai that may not survive. There would be spoils aplenty in the target of the raid anyway, so few expenditures in resources were made for the trip there. If the Uruk-hai got hungry enough on the way, they ran down small game or stray livestock.

What Aandar lacked, and sorely missed right now, was his shortbow. He didn't often use it in battle, preferring a sword, but nothing was better for taking down deer. Without a bow, he would have to sneak up on one, or worse run it down on the flat. He'd never done either, and had a low opinion of his chances.

Still, the forest gave up a pair of rabbits to his questing nose yesterday, so his spirits were high that another, better kill would present itself if he was patient and careful. This time, he would save off a portion of the meat for his Thaktor to cook as it pleased her, and try not to look disgusted when she did.

Unexpectedly, thoughts of the female caused an odd tug of worry. He shook it off; she'd promised to stay with him. He'd given her no reason to run. Relaxing, he leaned over to examine a dark stain on the trunk of a tree.

Sniffing, he grinned. Some animal marked this tree recently, he surmised. He didn't know what it was, but he was confident he could best anything he came across.

His back was a little sore still, but not so much that he couldn't crouch in the undergrowth and slip quietly through the shadows. The low growl of a predatory animal came to his ears, and it sounded so like an Orc he froze. His mind immediately went back to the camp, and his Thaktor lying there helpless.

Had the Orcs gone north as he assumed, or were they still close? Had he effectively lied to her? He chewed his lip, worrying it enough to bleed. They'd surely remember he came out of the tunnel with a whiteskin female. Would they come back for her? He swallowed hard, an unfamiliar urge to protect her surging through him. He'd _promised_ protection; she was not strong like he was. Yet he'd also promised meat. His breath quickened with indecision.

The lynx that growled an unheeded warning made his decision for him. This late in the winter, predators were making up for a spare season. Orc may not be preferred, but _any_ meat was better than none. The lynx pounced on Aandar's back, digging its claws deep and sinking its teeth into the back of his neck.

* * *

Not long after Aandar left, Eoforhild jolted awake. The fire was built up nicely, warming her front, yet her back was cold. To her alarm, she realized that sleep had worked the hem of the shirt up nearly to her waist, leaving her entire backside exposed.

Or was it Aandar taking liberties?

Fuming, she scanned the camp and frowned. He was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he'd gone to hunt? She supposed that was how it was to be now; with no Mannish or Orkish kitchens to feed them, they must make do on their own.

Rolling to a sitting position, she recalled her thoughts before drifting off to sleep. She had to admit, though he looked like any other Uruk, he had a companionable manner about him that soothed some of her fears. He was quick to anger, yet it seemed his anger was directed elsewhere most of the time. He'd clearly been wronged in that valley, perhaps as much as she.

Thinking of that place made her shudder in revulsion, for she and the other women were kept in the filthiest cells imaginable. Though mostly washed by the flooding, she wasn't scrubbed clean, particularly her hair. She wondered if she should look for a stream or pool to bathe in. He'd assured her that the Orcs had run off, and nothing had come for them in the night. Perhaps it would be safe enough.

Standing up, she poked around the perimeter of their campsite, peering through the dense trees. Venturing out a little more, she made another circuit, keeping the fire in view. Each time around, she ventured a few yards further.

Eventually, she came upon a trickling stream. It was not terribly deep, yet deep enough that she could kneel in it and make an attempt at cleaning her hair. Checking to make sure no one was about, she removed the Uruk's dirty shirt.

It smelled of him, rather like an animal run hard, as well as of sweat and blood. She wondered how long he had worn the tunic without a wash, either of the garment or himself. Sighing, she scrubbed the ragged material the best she could, then wrung it out and laid it flat on some rocks by the stream. The water was ice cold, but there was nothing else for it. Steeling herself, she stepped into the stream's deepest part, only up to her knees, and knelt on the smooth stones.

Teeth chattering, she hurried through bathing her body, but took the time to thoroughly wash her hair. It hurt digging her fingers into the mats and working the grime and filth out, but was so satisfying knowing how much better it would feel when done. Perhaps she lacked her soaps and oils, but after so long in a dirty cell, this was blissful enough. She could almost feel normal now.

The water was not rushing or churning where she was kneeling. As the forest lightened into morning, her eyes fell upon her own reflection in the stream. Her brow pinched with rising alarm and her chin trembled as tears welled in her eyes. Questing fingers gingerly touched the slashes on her cheeks, the deep gouge from a thumb claw under her chin, the slice that ran down her nose and came dangerously close to taking her eye. She saw in the water a hideously deformed woman, her mouth agape in silent horror.

Tearing her eyes away from her reflection, she got awkwardly to her feet. She looked at her body, extending her arms, twisting her torso to see as much as she could. Every scar elicited a horrified whimper.

Her clumsy feet kicked up a good deal of spray as she staggered from the stream. Eoforhild barely managed to pull the damp tunic down to hide what she'd seen before she began to scream.

* * *

_Cat nearly took a fuck from me_, Aandar thought with amusement as he hoisted the carcass onto his shoulders. It had certainly scratched up his backside, likely shredding his breeches at the left hip, judging by the bite of cold air he felt there. Not worth worrying about now; he needed to get back to his Thaktor.

He was, perhaps, fifty feet from camp when he heard her scream.

Swiftly unloading the lynx, he broke into a run, panic speeding his feet. The camp was empty; he halted and looked around, sniffing the air. Her screams had choked off, and he was in a fury to find her. If one of those fucking _snaga_ got a hold of her, he'd gut them _twice_ if he could.

His senses pointed him in her direction, and he bolted into the trees. Crashing through heedlessly, he came out near a stream and stopped again, heaving great breaths. She was here, but alone, covering her face as she knelt by the stream. He tested the air; no Orc scent. He gasped with relief.

When he came bursting into the clearing, Eoforhild startled so hard her weeping stopped. He looked positively ferocious; she recoiled from him in terror. He seemed oblivious, and rushed at her.

"No, please, no!" she cried, trying to crawl away, but he was upon her too quickly for her to get far.

He knelt close, his thickly muscled thighs parted about her, and pulled her into his arms. She raised her own between them protectively. Crying out in terror, she struggled and writhed, trying to free herself from his grip, but he was like a mountain and would not release her.

"Thaktor, _ashâmbal_," he murmured next to her ear. "_Kul âmul, _Thaktor_. Ufur narash. Khlaaruz-izg lat, agh skaatuz-izg. _Safe. Aandar protect."

Trembling hard and choking on sobs, all she heard was the snarling ugliness that was the tongue of Orcs, and she went still, turning her face away from him and squeezing her eyes shut. Eoforhild felt him nosing about her wet hair, snuffling over her neck. He seemed like a wild animal reassuring itself that its young was unharmed. Or, she realized with gut-wrenching fear, its _mate_. Whimpering, she renewed her struggles.

"_Nar_," Aandar protested, tightening his hold. "_Nar_, no fuck. Smell good. Stay."

"Let me go, please!" she cried, working one arm free and pushing against his shoulder. "_Please_."

"Why scream?" he asked quietly. While he didn't let her go, he at least loosened his hold so she didn't feel quite so crushed. "See something?"

Incredibly, he remained calm, and gradually her effort to free herself waned. His calm voice eased some of her fears. Truly, he wasn't doing anything to her. Would not a Man seek to embrace a woman who was upset and offer her comfort? Still, it was frightening to receive such attentions from Aandar. Perhaps she stopped fighting him, but she did not relax completely.

"No," she said, shaking her head. He practically engulfed her entire body. One of her arms was still pressed between them. With nothing else to do with it, she gingerly rested her free hand on his arm. "Well, yes." Her voice faltered and fresh tears filled her eyes. "My face," she whimpered, grief assailing her once more. Her head bowed, dropping her cheek to rest against his broad shoulder.

"Not ugly, Tha-... Eoforhild," he purred. "Not ugly." A quiet sadness softened his voice. "Aandar ugly, not Eoforhild."

She was not certain what to think of his words. She knew he was sensitive about his language skills, but his looks as well? Did Orcs even _have_ standards of beauty, as Men did?

"You... believe you are ugly, Aandar?" she asked.

He grunted in the affirmative. "Must be. Thak-... Eoforhild don't look."

Surprised, she drew back, and this time he loosened his hold more, allowing her to look up at his face. This close, she could see the harsh lines, the deep-set yellow eyes, the somewhat mottled skin tone drifting from dark brown to black... He was utterly calm and somewhat sad. Until she met Aandar, she had to confess, she'd never seen a calm Uruk. Certainly not a sad one. His features were not nearly as terrifying at this moment.

"I am... sorry if I have offended you," she said, her voice subdued. "It is not... _your_ face that... repels me. It is... my memories... of your kind."

"Aandar not shame you," he said.

"I know you didn't," she nodded, then swallowed hard. "But you _would_ have, if you could."

His brow furrowed as he contemplated how things might have been. "Aandar take fuck from Eoforhild," he said slowly, "Eoforhild... _hate_ Aandar." He darted a look at her, as though asking for confirmation of his conclusion.

She slowly nodded. "I... _hate_... all those who raped me, Aandar. You would be no different."

"What rape?" he asked curiously. He'd not ever heard the word before.

"That is... taking a fuck without permission," she said angrily, and pulled away from him so she could stand. He rose as well, and regarded her in bafflement.

"Permission?" he said.

Keeping her eyes averted from his deeply curious face, she said impatiently, "If you _ask_ and I say _yes_, then I have given you _permission_. If you ask, and I say _no_, you do _not_ have my permission. If you do not even ask, you _still_ do not have my permission. Do you understand?"

He nodded. "Aandar take fuck... not fuck, _rape_?"

"Yes," she said with a sigh. "Rape is a terrible, ugly, disgusting thing, Aandar. I suspect you felt the same whenever it was done to you."

He shifted uncomfortably. Master never said anything about this. He used many terms to convey his orders, but never _that_ one. "Aandar not... rape Eoforhild," he told her firmly.

"Thank you," she replied with relief.

"What...," he began, then hesitated. How did one ask? Huffing with frustration, he growled, "Want fuck. How ask... permission?"

"You do not," she snapped. "You accept that I do not want you... in that way."

A low growl rumbled in his chest. "What Aandar do? Make Eoforhild want?"

"I _used_ to want," she said half to herself. "That time is done." Shaking her head, she left the clearing.

Aandar stood by the stream and watched her retreating back. It registered after a few moments that her hair was the same color as in his dream, now that she'd cleaned it. He saw again in his mind the way she sat, shielding herself from him. It was not a posture that invited closeness.

Groaning and rubbing his face, he realized he'd rushed her in his desperate fear that she'd been harmed. He had a good idea what he must look like charging his enemies; it was no wonder he frightened her. Sighing, he trudged back to the campfire.

Once he'd reassured himself that she was safe at the fire, he trotted back out to retrieve his kill. He was quick about returning; there was no guarantee the Orcs he feared wouldn't have heard her screaming and come running. This time, he did the dressing of the beast apart from Thaktor so she would not be made ill. With claws and teeth, he pulled the meat from the bones and laid out the strips on a rock. The bulk of the meat he wrapped in the lynx skin for later.

Watching Aandar dress the big cat, and being careful not to see the details of his work, Eoforhild saw the fresh claw and teeth marks all over his back, and the torn patch of his breeches that left his haunch exposed. There were a few deep scratches there as well. She found it difficult to look at such wounds and not itch to tend them. Any Man with such injuries would want them seen to, for they could become infected and cause much difficulty later if left alone.

The only thing she could make a rag of, or indeed bandages, was the tunic she wore. She was loathe to tear any part of it off no matter _how_ bad things got. So she did nothing, and fretted over it instead.

Aandar's brow furrowed in thought as he saved off some meat for Eoforhild to cook. It became a truly disturbing, distracting worry while he hunted, not knowing if she was safe or in danger. He was nowhere near her, and so unable to protect her. But it was more than that; they were not in a safe place, where he _could_ leave her. The need to hunt for game was not a sport but a necessity. He would have to take her to a place where she would be safe. While he hadn't travelled this area of the mountains, he knew of several _snaga_ who had. There were caves aplenty all about; he had but to find one.

It felt good having a plan. Pleased with himself, he happily dismembered the lynx.

He kept his back to her as he tore through the flesh of the beast, and for that Eoforhild was grateful. Yet she found her gaze gravitating to that wound on his lower back, the one that appeared to have rendered him impotent. The hoofprints were more pronounced, it seemed, now that she was seeing him in the brighter morning light.

"Aandar," she found herself asking, and he glanced over his shoulder. "How is it you took those wounds? On your back."

"Which?" he asked.

Shifting down the log to sit closer, she pointed. "That one. And these others that look like a horse's hooves."

He grunted and went back to his work. "Fords. Rohan fucks. Come behind. Not see. Spear in back. Horse run down." He shrugged.

"Yet you were able to walk?" she asked incredulously. "After being trampled by a horse?"

"Four horse," he corrected. "_Akh_, Aandar walk. Not right, but walk. No walk, leave Aandar. Wolf get Aandar."

"They would have left you," she murmured, her brow furrowing.

"_Akh_," he nodded. "Can't walk, not strong. Not strong, don't want." Twisting a bit, he thumped his chest with a gorey fist, leaving a bloody print behind. "Aandar strong."

"All the same, it is terrible," she said a little indignantly. It was a difficult thing to imagine, leaving the wounded without regard, without even a half-hearted attempt to save them. She looked at him again, unconcernedly tearing at the animal whose species she hadn't noted before he set to work and couldn't guess now. When he described being ridiculed for poorly spoken words, he seemed furious. She would have thought the idea of being left for carrion would elicit at least that much anger. "Is this... common?"

He nodded. "_Akh_. Leave. No use. Master don't care; make more." Grunting ironically, he added, "Why pick Aandar for fuck? No _good_ Uruk left. Take _bad_ Uruk." He shrugged. "Aandar big, not... _so_ dumb. Still live. Got nine moon, not dead." He glanced back at her with a proud grin.

She frowned more deeply. "What do you mean, you have... nine moons?"

He pointed up at the sky. "Aandar see nine moon."

"_Full_ moons?" she asked. "You have seen the full moon... nine times?"

"_Akh_," he nodded, looking at her curiously. "Say, nine moon."

"When did you see the first one?" she asked, realization beginning to dawn.

"After wake," he replied. "Wake, Pitmaster take up, see moon." Aandar chuckled and shook his head. "Want see _sun_. Test Aandar. No sun, only moon."

"And you have seen... only eight since then," she whispered. He nodded, wondering why she kept going on about it. "You are nine months old, Aandar," she breathed. Her eyes widened in horror.

Aandar frowned. "_You_ know. You make three whelp." She didn't seem to understand. Sighing, he went on, "Go to pit, some time. Snaga take whelp, bury. Master does... thing." He grimaced with distaste and twiddled the fingers of one hand. "Four, five moon, whelp wake." He thumped his chest. "Like Aandar. Big. Strong."

Eoforhild's hand went to her throat. She could not honestly recall a single one of the 'whelps' she'd borne; the shock of being cut open always made her faint. She only recalled that the third was witnessed by the one who'd put the thing in her to begin with.

She shook her head sharply. She did not want to remember the third Uruk.

Now, however, she wondered just how long she'd been in Isengard. If only for four or five months, as she'd guessed, then... it was unlikely any of the foul creatures survived the flood. They would still have been... buried... and were now drowned like all the others...

A slight pang of remorse slid through her and was gone.

Quite apart from the disturbing feelings toward those things she'd been forced to bear was the horrible thought that the Uruk-hai were further tortured by the wizard's black sorcery to make them grow swiftly to adulthood. How could such a thing be possible? And what happened to a person – _any_ person – deprived of those precious years of life and experience?

She could not fathom the number of lessons she'd learned through trial and error, or how much better she was for having the outlet of childhood play to discover boundaries and limits. These Uruk-hai _children_ were, evidently, brought to adulthood swiftly. Were they then put immediately to use in the wizard's army? If that were the case, what lies were they told to make them do his will?

"Aandar," she said carefully, "what is it your folk fight for?"

He raised his head thoughtfully. The lynx was done, so he turned and sat on the ground to face her. "Fight for Master," he shrugged. "Say, fight. We fight."

"Men fight for their homes," she said, "or their lands. They fight for family and country. They fight for their king. There are many things worth fighting for."

"No home for Uruk-hai," Aandar replied, and his brow creased slightly. "No land. Don't know 'family.' Don't know 'king.'" He frowned more deeply. "Say, fight. Uruk fight."

"What if... you do not _want_ to fight?" she asked.

Aandar snorted and laughed. "Want? What 'want'? Master say do, Uruk do. No think, no say, no ask, just do. Master don't care for 'want.'"

"You said you did not want to die," she recalled. "It would seem you wanted something your master did not."

He bowed his head and shrugged, appearing somewhat embarrassed. "Master say fight, say kill, say... fuck. Don't say die. Die, Master mad." He shrugged. "Aandar don't give fuck for Master."

"That is good," Eoforhild muttered. Meeting his eyes, she saw his slight smile. "Your master does not deserve even so little." Regarding him thoughtfully, she said, "You came close to death, didn't you?"

"_Akh_," he said, nodding.

"Perhaps that... changed things for you? So you no longer wish to fight?" she suggested.

"Not weak," he suddenly snarled, and she recoiled from him. "Not... cow-... not coward. Aandar fight for Master." Looking away uncomfortably, he added under his breath, "Aandar not _die_ for master."

Shaking it off, the Uruk rose to his feet and hunted about for a long stick. Finding one, he held it in his hand like a sword and faced her. "Aandar strong. Fight Rohan. _No_ fear." Pointing about him, he growled. "Horse, horse, horse. Aandar _cut_," he barked, lunging forward and swiping his stick through the air at what must be an imaginary Rohirrim. Eoforhild recoiled from him in fear; though he was unarmed and without his armor, he still appeared ferocious and terrifying. "And _cut. _So many; Aandar alone. Fight hard." He darted about the clearing, reliving the battle and clearly showing her how strong he was, how brave. His words were merely grunted, as though they were not as important as what he was showing with his body.

Growling, he spun and stabbed, lunged and slashed. After a few minutes, Eoforhild noted a certain... grace in his movements. Though thick-muscled and bulky, he moved with surety and ease. It no longer looked as though his back pained him, either, for he twisted without obvious signs of discomfort. As his movements quickened and his snarling became barks and even thunderous roars, her breath came in gasps of fear that he might be losing control. There was nowhere for her to run; no defense she could muster.

Then he suddenly stopped and threw his arms out triumphantly, roaring at the top of his lungs as though he'd won a great victory single-handed. Eoforhild covered her ears and cowered, but could not take her eyes off him. In that way, she saw the swift change come over him.

Aandar felt it as a stabbing pain between his eyes. He dropped the stick and grabbed his head. At first he only gasped from the pain, then he groaned, then he bellowed. As though rendered boneless, he collapsed to the ground without making any attempt to break his fall. He was disoriented and confused; there was a ripping pain in his head but he could see no enemies to fight. Even if he _wanted_ to fight, he couldn't, for his body stopped responding to his wishes and began acting on its own.

He convulsed where he lay, twitching and bucking. Eoforhild had never seen anything like it, and was momentarily paralyzed with shock. He'd seemed so terrifying a moment ago, and now... the terror was in his face. He didn't know what was happening to him, and he was clearly in horrible agony.

Eoforhild was never the sort to turn her back on a man in need. In truth, were she to reflect upon her time as a prostitute, she might have noted how many men sought her out not for the use of her body but for her generous heart. Word spread quickly that _any_ pain could be assuaged with Eoforhild, no matter how slight. There were many men who paid their coin not to sink deep into the pleasures of her body but to weep in her arms, for there was no one else who would hear their sorrows without making demands or passing judgment.

So too could she not leave Aandar wracked with pain and fear. Though unnerved by what was happening to him, she hurried over and knelt at his side. His arms lay spread out on the ground and his eyes darted in wild panic. Small whimpering sounds came from him that reminded her of a wounded prey animal desperately hoping not to attract the attention of the predator lest it come back to finish him off.

"Aandar," she whispered, and his eyes rolled to focus on her. His jaw was clenched and locked so he could say nothing, but his eyes pleaded. Steeling herself, she reached out and touched his forehead. He closed his eyes, and a small rivulet of moisture seeped from one and ran down his temple.

She never knew they could weep. With that revelation came the need to gather and embrace the one in pain, for if he could weep then he was as close to being a Man as made little difference in this moment. She wished only to comfort his hurts and speak soothing words. This she did, urging Aandar to sit up and lean against her. The convulsions were slowing and weakening, and gradually control over his body began to return. Heavy and clumsy from the paralysis, his arms wrapped awkwardly about her waist and he shifted to press his ear against her reassuring heartbeat.

Eoforhild stiffened in fear of his embrace, but he shook his head slightly.

"_Nar_," he whispered against her breast, "no fuck. No rape. Only touch."

Fighting to calm her swiftly beating heart, she breathed, "What happened to you, Aandar?"

He held her tightly, his body shaking as though cold, and didn't answer for several moments. When he spoke, his voice was weak and sobbing. "Gone. Aandar alone. Master... gone. So alone." He curled his body around hers as if it were the only way he could be convinced he wasn't the only person left in all the world.

"Don't go. So dark. Stay. _Please_, Thaktor."

* * *

**Translation:**

Thaktor, _ashâmbal. Kul âmul, _Thaktor_. Ufur narash. Khlaaruz-izg lat, agh skaatuz-izg. =_ Thaktor, pretty one. Be calm, Thaktor. Fear nothing. I heard you, and I came.


	5. Chapter 5

Eoforhild stared unseeing into the campfire as she held Aandar's trembling, sobbing body in her arms. He was so large and muscular she could barely get her arms around his shoulders, yet he was curled about her like a very young child waking from a terrible nightmare. Which he was, she realized. Though he'd done the most monstrous things imaginable, perhaps he did them in the spirit of a child wanting to please its parent. Or he just paid no attention to his natural empathy for it was not encouraged. He surely felt it with her now, though; he listened to her words on the matter of rape and seemed able to associate the hideous crime with his own deeds as well as those of his fellows. Perhaps he had placed her in the same sort of position as his master, as a parent or guardian. His mind was young enough to be nudged in any direction.

Might she nudge him toward goodness? Was he even capable of it?

Coming out of her reverie, she realized she was cradling his head with her arm. Her hand was gently stroking his coarse hair, similar in texture to a horse's mane. She hadn't even been aware she was doing it. His sobbing had ceased and his grip about her body had loosened. It took her a moment to realize he was asleep.

Though pain and exhaustion were etched into his features, and his skin twitched around his closed eyes, his face was considerably less harshly lined. He looked like a dark-skinned Man with strong Orkish features. Curious now, she lightly touched his sharply pointed ear and it flicked aside like a horse's ear when bothered by an insect. Eoforhild smiled in spite of herself.

The stillness of the clearing was interrupted by a growling sound in her stomach. Now she regretted not taking some of the meat and spitting it over the fire earlier. Sighing, she looked down at him again. He seemed peaceful and content. His breathing was closer to normal; less labored and gasping. Still, there was no avoiding it. She couldn't do a thing with him all around her like this.

His sleep was truly deep and heavy, for he did no more than grunt small protests as she gingerly extracted herself from his embrace. Twice he sought to tighten his grip, but gently pulling on his arms was sufficient to release his hold.

Once free of him, Eoforhild breathed a sigh of relief and stood. He curled in upon himself in her absence, hugging his own chest and pressing his forehead against his drawn up knees. It was difficult to see him in this state when not long ago he was in full throat, displaying the vicious beast inside him. Very uncomfortable thoughts came to mind – sympathetic thoughts being the least of them – and she tore her gaze away. Shaking herself, she went to the campfire and rummaged through the sticks he'd gathered for suitable spits.

The scent of cooking meat roused Aandar, but he didn't at first register the smell as an indication that Thaktor was still there. All he knew at this moment was that he was completely alone. She'd left him cold and alone in the dark, just as his master had. His mind was a barren wasteland; nothing stirred, and no Voice called to him or showed him things. There was no guidance or urging. His entire existence had been governed by the Voice of his master; every moment he was awake, he heard it. Whenever he slept, the Voice showed him his duty. In battle, he heard _and_ saw that which pleased his master, and he carried out those orders with confidence, knowing he belonged and was needed.

Now there was nothing. Nothing at all. For several heartbeats, he lay in silent terror of the cold darkness in his mind, shivering and whimpering. Then as though a dam burst, his mind _filled_. His entire body jerked sharply and he grunted from the shock. Thoughts, questions, worries – but most of all _questions_ – flooded his mind just as the water flooded the forge pit.

He was drowning in thought, and could not find a foothold. Struggling to sit up, he grabbed his head and tried to squeeze the thoughts back out, for there were too many and he couldn't make sense of them. They didn't tell him to do the things his master urged him to do; they felt like _his_ thoughts. _His_ questions. Questions he might have asked but was urged not to. Observations he'd made that didn't align with his master's will and so were buried deep. Concerns he'd had, particularly about the barracks, that were pushed aside, for worry made one vulnerable and open to attack.

And there was fear. It was the biggest part of what came to him now, for it was so firmly suppressed by the Voice. Fear of death, for what comes after? Fear of his fellows, for they were always violently dominating one another, often to the point of death. Fear of vengeance from those he had harmed. Fear of failing at... anything, really. Failure in Isengard was rarely forgiven, but always punished. Pain he could stand, but the Pitmaster and indeed his own kind were well aware of the threshhold for pain among their own. He'd been on the receiving end of those explorations on enough occasions to fear anything that looked like they might go there.

Worse than pain was being rejected, cast aside, pushed away, removed from the bosom of his folk for not being 'right in the head' or for not going along with the pack no matter how uncomfortable what they did might be to him. And there _were_ things that made him uncomfortable, but all they ever drew from him at the time was a slight frown before the influence of the Voice and his fellows drove the unease into the dark recesses of his mind; dark recesses that had now come suddenly, terrifyingly, into the light.

"Are you well?"

He startled so sharply at the sound of her voice, she recoiled. Breath quickened in momentary panic, he only blinked at her for a few seconds. Slowly, his expression smoothed with recognition.

"Thaktor... here?" he murmured as though too loud a sound would make her drift away like smoke on the wind. Eoforhild nodded, choosing not to reprimand him about the name at the moment. He looked so unsure...

"Yes, Aandar," she said gently, "I am still here."

He slowly nodded and bowed his head, unable to look at her for a moment. She'd seen him so weak and helpless, she mused, perhaps he was embarrassed. Sighing, she knelt beside him and, though she hesitated, laid her hand on his shoulder. He started and looked at her pale hand against his dark skin. "You do not hear your master anymore?" she asked, more to reassure herself than him.

"_Nar_," Aandar replied. "Too... much." He tapped his temple with a clawed finger. "Aandar voice. Many voice. Think many thing." Frustrated with himself, for he still spoke poorly – surely the loss of his master's Voice would give him _something_ good in return! – he huffed with impatience. "Many ask," he said urgently, turning to face her. "No tell. Just ask. Many ask."

Eoforhild struggled to understand what he was trying to tell her. "You... no longer hear his voice," she said slowly, and he nodded. "Yet you hear... other people's voices?"

Shaking his head, he growled, "_Aandar_ voice, not other voice. All Aandar. Not ask. Master tell; Aandar not ask. Now Aandar _ask_. No... tell." He sagged. She'd never get it, he was sure.

Yet realization dawned. "Oh! I think I... you are saying that your master's voice used to tell you what to do, and now it's gone. What you are hearing is your own thoughts, your own questions." His face lit up like a beacon, yet she frowned. "Aandar, did his voice... keep you from thinking your own thoughts?"

"Must be," he nodded eagerly. "Know some, not all. So many ask, no tell. Master don't care for ask."

Nodding, she offered a grim smile and patted his shoulder. "But your master is gone now, isn't he?"

Aandar looked at Eoforhild with an intensity that made her breath quicken with a thread of fear. She removed her hand from his shoulder and covered her throat. Yet he was not in a predatory mood. "Master go. Leave Aandar. Thakto-... Eoforhild _not_ go? Not leave Aandar?"

She slowly let out the breath she was holding. It was strange; she felt that she might have gone away if he continued to call her by that horrid name, but by saying her own now he softened her heart.

"No, Aandar," she said, her lips quirking with a slight smile. "I will not leave. It seems to me that... perhaps there is some other way I can repay you for your protection and hunting."

His brows shot up hopefully. "Give fuck?"

Somehow, she could not muster anger with him over the request, for he looked like an eager young boy in an adult Uruk's body. Sighing and shaking her head, she said with slight exasperation, "No, not _that_. I mean I would like to help you speak better. I know how it frustrates you." His initial disappointment was replaced with a slight smile. "I... I would like to know what _Aandar_ thinks, now that he _can_."

He nodded. "Many ask. Eoforhild tell?"

"Yes," she replied, "As best I can, I will answer what questions you have."

* * *

They did not stay in their camp for long. By afternoon, Aandar was itching to move on and find a safe place for his Thaktor. He slung the lynx hide full of meat over his shoulder and led the way up into the mountains, finding game trails by scent and winding deeper into the woods. Occasionally, he picked up the scent of an Orc, and he pointedly avoided following where it led. He knew what would happen to her in the hands of Orcs, just as he knew what would happen to him. He would likely be slain first, then they would rape and eat her. Rape was a repellent thing, now that he understood it. He now also understood that it was one of his chief worries in the barracks, being taken down by the others and raped without mercy. He saw it happen uncountable times; he'd been through it himself on a few occasions.

And, he grudgingly admitted, he took part in the assault on the occasional _globatish_. There were some who willingly bared their backsides for the use of others, but more often there was general consensus of who was going to serve in that capacity, the will of the Uruk in question be damned. One instigator Aandar knew often roped him into attacking a particular _globatish_, for several were needed to bring the giant down. That the offending Uruk also led the others in their cruel torment of Aandar for his language seemed irrelevant then; Aandar joined in because it meant he _belonged,_ even for so brief a time.

The giant had a soft hide, he remembered. Not quite like Thaktor's skin, but close enough. Recalling how she felt in his arms, during the night and by the stream, pushed memories of Isengard away. He could hear her trudging along behind him, could _feel_ her there. A wave of lust barrelled through him, and his cock hardened to fullness swiftly. He almost stopped, almost turned around to relieve the discomfort of such a strong need...

But that was the way of _Isengard_, to feel then take without thought. He was not in Isengard anymore. His Thaktor was _his_ in word only; he forced himself to recall the pool in his dream, and was startled to remember that he'd seen it a second time after his master's Voice went away completely. How could he have forgotten it?

Calming his thoughts was not easy with such a strong desire to fuck overwhelming all his senses, but he fought it hard. _The pool_, his thoughts growled, _what did I see in the pool?_

He stood as he had before, waist-deep in the water. Now he recalled other details he hadn't noticed the first time. His body was unmarked; no scars showed anywhere, not the proud ones nor the humiliating ones. His hair flowed down his back in smooth waves as well, seeming to be clean and unmatted. Other than these strange details, he was as he always had been.

Across from him, Thaktor huddled, still clasping her arms about her upraised knees, but now she was sitting in the shallows, and her head was raised. She was looking at him curiously, and she bore no marks upon her face. He wasn't sure he liked her face without the scars, but he supposed she was still _somewhat_ pretty.

That was all he could recall. He realized, now that his attention was back on the game trail and the forest and finding a cave, that his cock no longer raged for relief. There was the remnant of stiffness, but it was a manageable sort of need. It was the strangest thing. He was not satisfied – only a fuck would do that – but he didn't need one so sharply as before.

Grunting with ironic humor, he reckoned he'd be spending a good deal of time in that pool to ensure he didn't do something stupid enough to make Eoforhild climb out of it.

* * *

Eoforhild's thoughts were far away. There were so many things she was coming to realize, things she never wanted to know of her tormenters. Their cruelty had been absolute and without remorse. It was easy to hate them, for they were monsters. Yet hate was difficult to keep in her heart for it was a tiring, gnawing thing, and not something that sat comfortably within her. Even now, it was fading. Knowing they were all dead, those who assaulted her in the breeding room, whether they were willing to do so or not, gave her great relief.

By the third Uruk, she was numb and despairing. The repetitiveness, the routine, the hopeless barrage of rape, gestate, extract, recover, had taken a toll on her will. She wished only for an ending; an end to the rape, an end to the day, an end to that fortnight of damnable, hellish relief... Then the third came to her, the only one who made her look him in the face, not with a rough hand but a soft, rumbling voice... begging forgiveness, as though she might give it to him even as he raped her.

She hated him most of all.

Tearing her thoughts from him, she focused on following in Aandar's wake. The Uruk walked with quiet confidence, his head turning this way and that frequently to survey their surroundings, always on the alert for danger. She fancied his nostrils were likely quivering, picking up even the barest hint of threatening scents. His ears flicked constantly, reacting to sounds she couldn't hear.

She found her eyes following his movements in more than a strictly casual way. Angry with herself, she shook her head sharply and put her gaze to the ground and his bare feet.

How had she not noticed that he wore no shoes? The realization startled her, even as she watched his feet flex over the uneven ground with rapt fascination. The sharp claws at his fingertips were mirrored by the ones on his toes. From his feet, her gaze stole up his calves, only partially hidden by the legs of his breeches. Then his thighs, powerfully muscled and seemingly only minimally subdued by his present calm. The memory of his mock-fight before collapsing came to mind, and the stances he took. Stretching the muscles of his mighty legs and spreading his great thighs as he crouched and sprung about the campsite...

Eoforhild startled with horror at the thoughts in her head. She made herself look at his broad back and note the scars there that told his history, the battles he fought against _her_ people. Yet in much greater number were the Pitmaster's punishments. She found her revulsion for what he was to be... lessened, somewhat.

After a few hours, she began to really feel the pain in her feet again. The first punishing day had been difficult, and bathing her feet in the stream had helped a good deal, but this endless march...

"Aandar," she said timidly. He promptly stopped and turned. Swallowing, she said, "May we rest for a short while? My feet..."

"_Akh_," he nodded, and scanned the area quickly. Finding what he was looking for, he led the way to a rocky outcropping. There was a low place where she could easily sit, and she did so gratefully.

The Uruk kept his eyes open, tense and alert. Eoforhild rubbed her feet absently, yet could barely keep from noting his muscular body out of the corner of her eye. Now she was frightened for another reason than the constant threat inherent in Aandar's very presence; had her defenses against him been brought so low by his weeping that she was imagining him in even greater equality to a Man?

Even worse that his form spoke to a truly basic and perhaps primal need she had never wanted to acknowledge for its shamefulness, regardless that it was part and parcel of her profession. Her mother, who had taught her what was proper for a young woman to do and how to behave, would be appalled and aggrieved were she to know. Eoforhild enjoyed sex, simply put. She liked the variety of men who came calling, though she could have done without the majority of them for their callousness and disregard for her as a temporary bedfellow. Far more often than she cared to remember, she pretended pleasure as was her professional duty, but once in a great while there came a man who made her body sing.

She knew what pleased her, and how to claim it for herself. It was humiliating and horrifying to find what she longed for packaged right before her in Aandar.

"Smell good," his voice rumbled, startling her from her indecent thoughts. She looked up sharply into his face and sucked in her breath. His nostrils were flared and quivering, his eyes hooded and peering intently at her. He drew great, slow breaths. Of their own accord, her eyes slid down to his manhood. To her shock, there was no doubt he was fully recovered.

Looking into his eyes again, she shook her head. "No. Please." Her chin quivered and she pressed against the rocks behind her, cringing from him.

As her fear scent replaced whatever intoxicating smell he'd picked up on her, Aandar snorted to clear his nose and growled with annoyance. He used to love that smell, but coming from his Thaktor, it was not nearly as enthralling. It made him rather nauseous, in fact. "No fear," he grimaced, and took a few steps back.

It had never occurred to her that, as sharp as his sense of smell was, he might be able to detect arousal from her in the same way a stallion could tell if a mare was in season. She did _not_ want to look upon someone like Aandar and see anything but a beast. It was unfair that so much time in his company had given her ample reason _not_ to see him so simply as that.

"I am not afraid," she lied, easing herself back on her feet. His low growl made her look up in surprise. He looked quite angry.

"Eoforhild lie," he snarled. He tapped his blunt nose. "Smell fear. _Know_ Eoforhild fear Aandar. _No lie_."

"All right, _yes_," she snapped. "I am afraid of you. I am not your equal in strength. That has ever been, in my experience, a reason for your folk to cause greater harm." He flinched slightly, and she sighed. "I am sorry, Aandar, but there is much... fear of your folk within me still. I recall... so much that is... terrifying," she said, her voice faltering as memories flooded back. Her voice shook with the remembered horror, and she was not entirely aware of Aandar's presence anymore.

"They kept us separate," she whispered, staring at nothing yet seeing all. "We were spared; we did not know why. Those who were not... one by one, sometimes a few at a time... First the Dunlending men raped them. When they were done, the women were passed to the Uruk-hai. They... they tore at their bodies. Only a few actually raped them. Most of them just... tore them to pieces. The screams... they went on and on... We... could not help but see... I tried to shield the youngest of us... but the screams... the tearing of skin... like ripping silk... and... the sound of limbs pulled..."

Shaking violently, she sank to the ground. There had never seemed to be enough tears to weep for those women on the way to Isengard. Tears did no good then, and only earned the more hysterical women a clout to the face from their annoyed guards. Now, tears would do even less, yet she shed them, covering her ruined face with her hands and sobbing wildly.

Aandar stood still, a frown on his face. All that she said was familiar. He had attended such raids. It was galling to be 'given' a female for fucking only after the Dunlending officers had their turn, and especially since the female was almost done in. He never liked a limp fuck. There was no honor in it, for there was no battle to be won, no prize to be claimed. At least he had never taken part in the frenzied slaughter she described. He'd seen it happen; once the scent of blood hit the air, many Uruk-hai were reduced to ravenous beasts. Not all, though. Aandar wasn't. He always backed away from such things. Went off to throw bones with another Uruk not so affected. Tried to ignore what was happening and just wait until the meat was rationed out afterwards.

Those were his thoughts _before_. Seeing Thaktor's grief for what must have happened months ago to the women of her village, Aandar wasn't quite sure what he thought _now_. She made him see what was done, in terms Men understood them. It was this new understanding that urged him to do things differently _now_, yet there was nothing he could do about what was done_ then_. Why worry about _then_ if it was beyond his control?

Yet he _did_ worry about such things, particularly with regards to those who raped him. Several met their end in myriad ways, though they were often attributed to 'accidents' as far as the Pitmaster was concerned. Worthless _pushdug_ he might be, but he didn't hold with bothering master about Orkish concerns. If a handful out of the tens of thousands of them pitched mysteriously into a pit for no apparent reason, it was no matter.

It was a satisfying thing, he now realized. Making someone pay for it in a painful, irreversible manner. The women from her village, the ones in the breeding cells... even Eoforhild herself, were denied this satisfaction. He wondered if it would make a difference to her, knowing the ones who raped her and the women of her village were likely dead.

Aandar knelt a few feet away and said quietly, "Eoforhild... all dead now. Uruk-hai dead. All gone." Though he'd sought to comfort her with such words, he was startled by them himself. What if it was true? What if he was the last?

Struggling to compose herself, Eoforhild nodded as she roughly wiped her cheeks. "Yes. I suppose... they are. So are the women for whom I weep." She laughed bitterly. "I always thought they were the lucky ones."

"How lucky?" he asked, startled from his own worries for a moment. "Rape. Pain. Weep. Die. How lucky?"

She smiled sadly, looking at him as though he were a young child with little grasp of such weighty matters. "They _died_."

He pondered the thought. To long for death, even be _grateful_ for it... He could not fathom such a thing. But then, he did not know what came _after_. Perhaps Men _did_ know, and so were not afraid. Looking at Eoforhild, he asked, "What... after die? What do? Where go?"

Blinking with surprise, she said, "What happens when we die?" He nodded. "Oh... well... I am not sure. It is said among Men that we go to the Halls of Mandos. It is a... waiting place. After that, we are presumably sent... elsewhere. No one is certain."

"_Want_ go... Halls?" he asked.

Eoforhild took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "There were times when I did, yes. I had... reached such a point when... when you came. I hoped you would slay me. Spare me any further indignities." She shrugged. "It would not have mattered. Your master's use of me was near its end. Yours would have been the last I bore." She looked away uncomfortably.

"Master kill Eoforhild," he said quietly, his voice a low growl. "Master _done_ and kill Eoforhild." Raising her eyes, she saw his nearly murderous expression, so frighteningly different from before, and cringed a little.

"Master don't give fuck for Eoforhild," he snarled. "For _any_. Take all, not give. Want whelp, make Uruk rape female. Don't care for Uruk, don't care for female. Only whelp." Then he shook his head, looking almost helpless as realization struck and his voice dropped to a murmur. "Not care for whelp. Give sword, say _fight_. Say, do. We do. Don't tell Uruk what Eoforhild tell. Don't tell... _wrong_. Don't _know._" A pained look crossed his face and settled there. "Eoforhild hate Uruk. Hate... Aandar. Aandar don't _know_. Aandar do and... and don't _know_ wrong."

Nodding and finding it difficult not to weep for _him_, Eoforhild said, "I know. I didn't before, but I know it now. You understand far more than I... than I ever gave your kind credit for, I confess. It is unfair of me to always see... the others... when I look at you." She shrugged apologetically. "_You_ have done me no harm." Blushing and ducking her head, she added, "Although... it was rather uncomfortable when you... pretended."

"Don't know what do," he said quietly, looking away. "Always cock good. Always." He let out a shaky breath. "No cock, no Uruk. Other Uruk shame... _rape_ Aandar. No cock, can't... rape back. Can't _fight_ back. And Pitmaster kill. Tell Aandar, fuck female. Can't fuck, not worth shit." He shrugged and shook his head helplessly. "Don't know what do."

"Then... I suppose... fortune smiled on us both," she said ironically. "For you thought of a way to fool the Pitmaster, and I... agreed."

He looked up and nodded. "Aandar owe much. Never pay."

She smiled a little and hesitantly touched her fingertips to his rough cheek. "I owe you as well. I no longer wished to live. You... made me want to again." Her cheeks flared once more and she dropped her hand to her lap. "I think I can walk some more. We should... keep going."

Aandar rose to his feet, awkward and confused. He did not understand why she touched him, except that it felt... good. Not as good as a fuck, but nothing felt as good as that.

Well... maybe. As he led the way back to the game trail, he thought about it some more. He was beginning to think _any_ touch from Eoforhild was better than a fuck, for he only received what she freely gave. They were like small victories won through patience, which was a weapon he knew almost nothing of wielding.

Once more behind him, Eoforhild felt even less repelled by the movement of his hips and the flexing of his muscles as he walked than she had before.

* * *

**A/N:** _globatish_ – literally 'container of filth' – established in my other fic, "Misfire of Global Proportions," as the common term in Isengard applied to an Uruk used by the others as the 'receiver' of anal intercourse. Typically, this is non-consensual.


	6. Chapter 6

_Do not look at him._

Eoforhild concentrated on piercing her evening meal on a stick rather than let her traitorous eyes note any movement of Aandar's. Yet she could see him from the periphery of her vision as he fussed over the campfire. At any other time, she might have been amused by his perfectionism, shifting logs and branches to lie _just so_. She had no idea what measure he was using to determine proper placement, nor the purpose of it, but it seemed to give him satisfaction and keep him occupied.

If only her own activity were as consuming.

She did not want to look upon Aandar with anything more than a friendly eye, and perhaps not even that. While his childlike curiosities and excitement appealed to her sympathies, his obvious adulthood and maleness stirred more unwelcome feelings. Her thoughts as they walked disturbed her for they bordered on the sort of physical attraction she might have felt for a Man of similar build and unconstrained masculinity. She feared her own natural reaction to him almost as much as she feared his to her.

Had her time in Isengard not killed such desires? She thought it had. She believed all such needs to be thoroughly destroyed, a loss nearly as devastating as the taking of her name. Where once she delighted in the adventures and enticements, the unexpectedness of a gentle touch or the wild romp of youthful vigor, she learned to recoil with revulsion at the mere thought of being looked upon, much less touched. She hated what was done to her, hated those who did it, and came to hate her own body, where before they were old friends, comfortable companions, sisters in the flesh.

Was she indeed the dirty, filthy whore the village women called her that she would look upon someone like Aandar and _want_?

Yet the more she knew of the Uruk, the less like his fellows he seemed to her. She never would have expected him to show any consideration for her wishes. When he took her hand to lead her from the tunnel, she _knew_ he would rape her. Perhaps not at that moment, but soon. Then he didn't. What's more, he possessed enough empathy to accept her refusal of his desire for sex in exchange for his help. Eoforhild would never have imagined a creature like those she thought she knew could be so... Man-like in honor and integrity.

As she ate, her thoughts in turmoil, she saw from the corner of her eye that he was once again smoothing the ground for sleeping. The meticulous way he ran his calloused, clawed hands over the earth, pausing to dig a pebble or stick free and toss it aside, put her in mind of a bird building a nest. Making it _just so_ for the comfort of its mate and chicks.

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. This was not the behavior of a child to a parent, she realized. If Eoforhild knew anything, it was the way Men treated a woman they wished to please.

Over the years, she'd occasionally come across a man who sought her not for simple pleasures, but more meaningful ones. The occasional widower seeking to reclaim some semblance of the companionship he lost, or a man of middle age whose awkwardness with women robbed him of opportunities his too modest wealth and connections could not ensure. These men doted on Eoforhild, showering her with gifts and affectionate embraces. Had payment not been involved, she fancied they might have truly been courting her, but such was not the case. There was no public acknowledgment of what passed between them behind the brothel's walls.

Yet they were the only ones who ever gave her the feeling of being loved, however fleeting and impermanent it was. The other men who came calling fucked her like a whore; these few made love with her as though she were their lover, something she had never been to anyone.

Eoforhild could read a man quite well, and Aandar was not far enough from being one that she could not sense the same sort of affection from him. What worried her was that those men knew she did not belong to them; payment was still expected, and they paid handsomely for the long hours spent in her company. She was not their wife or solitary companion; they knew she had other customers. It was illusion only, and no one thought it otherwise.

Aandar was not merely pretending that she was his lover, she knew. Perhaps in his own mind, she was already his and his alone. Eoforhild had no idea how to dissuade him from such beliefs.

If she were not intrigued by him, it might be easier. Were he not as tormented as she by what was done beneath the wizard's boot, she might have been able to turn away from him. But he suffered there as well, and she could not forget that.

Glancing over again, she saw him sitting cross-legged on the ground with his elbows on his knees, looking at her with a strange expression on his face. He seemed... nervous. Agitated. When she met his gaze, he swallowed hard.

_He is waiting for me_, she thought. _And he has recovered._ She stiffened with alarm, eyes widening. He would want to have his hands on her again, as he had the night before. He would press his hard body against hers. Would he attempt seduction, or simply rape her? It was frightening to imagine, terrifying to think about.

Eoforhild closed her eyes. To her deep shame, she did not shiver nearly as much as she thought she _should_.

The need for relief had plagued Aandar all day. Now that night had fallen and the time to lie with Thaktor had come, he feared what he might do. When had he ever resisted such urges before? Never that he could recall. There was always another who assuaged the need for him. It was another way of establishing his position in the barracks, threatening or coercing a lesser Uruk into jerking his cock.

Would it be as bad as rape to ask such a thing of Thaktor? He didn't know, and worried his lip with indecision.

But she'd said she'd answer his questions.

"Thak-... Eoforhild," he ventured in a low voice.

"Yes, Aandar?" she replied tightly.

"Don't know what do," he muttered. "Don't know."

Her brow furrowed with uncertainty. She'd expected... well, she wasn't sure _what_ she'd expected. "Are you... troubled?"

Aandar looked at her imploringly, his forehead bunched. "Want fuck," he whispered, then shook his head. "Can't take fuck. Don't know what do."

Eoforhild swallowed with difficulty. By his expression and slight trembling, Aandar looked to be suffering. She took a moment to privately curse the wizard for breeding his servants so, not only for the Uruk's pain but for what it might mean for _her_. It was infuriating to be so helplessly in the wizard's power even beyond his walls.

Forcing herself to speak, she replied shakily, "You could... use your hand."

He blinked with surprise. "_Aandar_ hand?"

His look of incredulity almost made her laugh. "Naturally," she said. "Haven't you... surely you've..."

Aandar shook his head. "Uruk hand fuck Aandar. Always." Grimacing, he shrugged with embarrassment. "Aandar... some time... hand fuck Uruk."

Her mouth opened slightly and she stared at him blankly. Masking her discomfort, she took a deep breath and said, "It is... the same. If you seek... relief... please..." She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, "Use your hand."

Aandar nodded, then pulled the knot loose on his breeches.

"No!" Eoforhild cried in alarm. The Uruk looked up with a frown. "Please," she said as calmly as she could, "not... in front of me. I would rather not... watch."

Her dismissal was confusing and hurtful, but Aandar was in too much pain to worry about it right now. Shrugging it off, he rose and slumped off a short distance from the fire, just out of sight. As he sat amongst the underbrush, he found that a slight break through the foliage gave him a fair view of his Thaktor.

Furrowing his brow, Aandar loosened the laces enough to release his cock, a great relief after so long in confinement. For a moment, all he could do was stare at it, not quite sure how to approach this task. Sighing, he half-heartedly gave an experimental tug. Not... quite... comfortable. Growling to himself, he recalled there was always a good deal of spit involved. He huffed with impatience and filled his palm with sputum.

The first few strokes were all it took to convince him that managing it himself was far better than letting his pleasure be dictated by another.

* * *

At the campfire, Eoforhild tried not to listen. The Uruk was not so far distant that she could not hear every grunt and moan he made.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes. Were he any other of his kind, she was certain she would be repulsed. Why in Eru's name was she not? Why did the sounds of his enjoyment stir even a small amount of longing within her? Even worse were the visions invading her mind.

_He is an Orc_, she admonished herself, _and I am grateful that he agreed to do _this_. It could be worse. It could be much worse. Please stop thinking about it. Stop imagining what he is doing. Stop _thinking_ about it!_

She shook her head fiercely and forced herself to stare into the fire. _Not _him_. Not with _him.

Covering her ears, she tried to think of anything else, _anything_ but what he was doing. She forced herself to remember the breeding room, the journey to Isengard, any number of abuses she'd suffered at the hands of the Pitmaster and his lackeys, _anything_. But overwhelming her desperate attempt to _hate_ him and be disgusted by him, was his voice, pleading with her to understand. Begging her forgiveness, perhaps, though he lacked the words to truly ask it. Distressed by his own realization. _Don't tell Uruk what Eoforhild tell. Aandar don't _know_. Aandar do and... and don't _know_ wrong_

She could not hate him, badly as she wanted to.

* * *

Unaware of Eoforhild's worries, Aandar peered hungrily through the small hole in the foliage at her, his eyes roaming her form as he masturbated. She was wondrously exotic, her pale skin such a contrast against his own. He wished she'd remove the tunic and let him gaze upon her body again, as he'd done in the breeding room. If it had not been sheer necessity to cover her treasures before taking her out into the open among all the other Orcs, he might have left her naked, so beautiful was she. But he'd feared losing her to another in the chaos. While it was partly his duty to see her to safety in recompense for her deed, there was a strong need to keep her for himself as well.

Imagining her spread upon the table before him only excited him for a brief moment before the true ugliness of that place and what he was meant to do crashed down on him. Shoving the thought aside, he tried to imagine her in another way before his erection flagged from revulsion.

It was no better. All Aandar knew was rape. He could see her in his mind's eye, replacing any number of females he had taken down. He saw Thaktor beneath him, screaming and fighting against him, weeping and begging him to _stop_.

His cock softened as he grew nauseous. Hanging his head, he roughly rubbed his face with his free hand. He could not imagine a scenario where Thaktor accepted him. He could not even construct a fantasy of her silently enduring his touch, for he had no point of reference.

Drawing a deep breath, he stared down at his limp cock and frowned. Was he still broken, he wondered? Nothing short of coming had ever relieved his cock of stiffness before. He tugged a few times, but there was no life in it, not while his mind was filled with a weeping Thaktor.

He feared its return, though. If he was not assuaged now, he might not have control during the night. Yet even dredging up the fading memories of what his master put in his mind, or the more vivid recollections of the horrors _he_ had inflicted, no longer enticed him.

Resting his head against the tree behind him, Aandar closed his eyes and went to the pool. In that vision, Thaktor was always unclothed. Though he couldn't see much of her, and her lovely scars were gone, at least she was naked.

The tranquility of the vision calmed yet roused him. He did not need to prod the dreamlike scene one way or another, for just the sight of her there, as he had seen her the last time he slept, was enough to harden him considerably.

He realized he wanted her just that way: open to him, accepting of him, curious about him, aroused by him. The notion that she might enjoy fucking as much as he did was ludicrous, but he held on to it and fisted his cock swiftly so not to lose this chance before good sense returned.

* * *

When Aandar returned to the fire, Eoforhild was even less able to look at him than before. His panting breaths as he calmed from what sounded to her like a vigorous and satisfying endeavor did not lessen the discomfort she'd been feeling while he tended to his need.

He sat heavily beside her and let out a great huff. "Hand fuck good," he commented breathlessly.

_Sweet Valar, does he want to make a conversation of it now?_ she worried. Swallowing, she replied noncommittally, "I am sure it is."

"Why not watch?"

Eoforhild's eyes nearly bulged with shock and she slowly turned her head to look at Aandar. "I... beg your pardon?" she breathed, barely able to speak.

The Uruk tilted his head, yet his eyes held more disappointment and hurt than curiosity. "Aandar... ugly? Not watch?"

It took her another moment, and a deep shuddering breath, to reply. "It is... _private_."

His brow furrowed with incomprehension. "What 'private'?"

Looking away to make it a bit easier on herself, Eoforhild said awkwardly, "What is... private... is done alone. With no one else. No one... watching."

Aandar jerked his head back in startlement and gave her a most confused look. "No... private. Uruk there, all time. See all. Piss, shit, eat, sleep, fuck, rape... All time, Uruk there. Many Uruk. All time. No private."

She could not imagine it. Not even in the cell she shared with two women. Perhaps they were not friendly with one another, any more than was necessary to give an embrace for comfort or a shoulder for weeping. Such gestures lacked warmth as their ability to give was bled dry. But they never threatened one another in any way. They never watched each other use the bucket in one corner.

"You had... no moment to yourself?" she asked incredulously. He shook his head. "No place of... of quiet and... to be by yourself? You could not even relieve yourself without being... _watched_?"

Frowning, he looked away. He didn't understand why she would be so shocked. It made him uncomfortable, the way she was looking at him, as though he should be ashamed.

Seeing his dismay, Eoforhild schooled her voice to a more calm timbre. "That is not the way Men behave," she said quietly. "We respect one another's privacy and person. As _you_ have done for _me_, Aandar," she added, for he seemed to be growing defensive. Her acknowledgement calmed him somewhat. "Forgive me. You must weary of being compared with Men."

He shrugged a little, but said nothing, nor did he look at her.

"I am sorry, Aandar," she whispered, bowing her head.

"Aandar not Men," he growled. "Aandar _Uruk_. Don't want like _Men_. Want like _Uruk_. Aandar _Uruk_. All time, Uruk. No Men."

She nodded. "I understand."

"Uruk... gone," he murmured. Eoforhild looked up. He was staring into the fire. "All gone now. No more. Only Aandar. All Uruk gone."

"How do you know?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't," he said absently, then pressed his hand to his chest. "Feel. All gone. Must be. Master voice gone. Uruk not protect." His face crumpled. "Master call, Aandar not come. Master die, Uruk die. For Aandar not come."

Though she felt his remorse unjustified and certainly unwarranted, Eoforhild was moved. "Aandar," she said gently, "you were not at fault. Others... may have survived. You... _we_ cannot know for certain."

"Don't want know," he growled. "Uruk see Eoforhild, _take_ Eoforhild." He raised his fierce eyes to hers. "Eoforhild call, Aandar come. Aandar _protect_. Promise."

She found it difficult to tear her eyes from his, he held her gaze so firmly. "I am... grateful... for your protection," she said carefully. "I hope I am kinder to you than your master was. More worthy of your protection, at least."

He frowned and tilted his head. "Eoforhild worth protect. Eoforhild own Aandar now. Worth protect."

Startled, she shook her head. "What did you say?"

"Say, worth protect," he repeated.

"No, the other," she insisted. "Did you say I... own you?"

"_Akh_," he nodded, as though it were obvious. At her incredulous expression, he shook his head sharply. "_Nar_, not own _here_," he clarified, tapping his temple with a clawed finger. "Aandar free." He drew a deep breath and let it out with a slight smile. "Own _Aandar_." He gestured to indicate his entire body.

Eoforhild blinked. "I do not understand," she said.

Sighing with frustration, Aandar said, "Master own Aandar. Say go, Aandar go. Say fight, Aandar fight. Say fuck..." He went silent and looked away, a strange expression on his face.

"What is wrong?" she asked warily.

He stared unblinking into the fire, as though he were remembering something terribly uncomfortable. His face twitched a few times. "Aandar... wake. Master come, see. Touch." He gripped his own chin and turned his head from one side to the other, as though he were demonstrating how a horse breeder might inspect his stock. "Touch." He pried his mouth open and ran his fingers over his teeth. "Touch," he whispered, and his hand descended to his lap, cupping his privates. A grimace of disgust settled on his face. His lower lip quivered slightly. "Hand fuck Aandar. _Cold_ hand. See... how much make. For fuck. Don't look. Pitmaster... whip... don't look. Bad. Don't look master." He drew his legs up and hugged them, pressing his forehead to his knees.

Eoforhild raised a trembling hand to her mouth. "Very cold hands," she breathed, nodding. Aandar raised his head and looked at her.

"Master touch Eoforhild?"

Wincing, she nodded again. She'd put it out of her mind, buried it deeply. She never looked at the brand on her arm for fear that the memory would return. Hearing him speak of the wizard's abuse brought it back.

"When we came to Isengard," she said with a shaking voice, "we were brought to the breeding room. We were put on the tables. Oh, we fought so hard," she whispered, grimly amused by her own foolishness back then. "The wizard... inspected us. He wanted to know if we were pregnant." Her voice hitched on a sob, and she glanced at Aandar. He likely didn't know what the word meant, for his brow furrowed. "If any of us already bore a whelp. His fingers... were so _cold_." She had to cover her mouth and hold her stomach. She unconsciously clamped her legs together. "I do not know what he did... to detect... But it felt like... a tingling... inside... but not pleasant. Not pleasant."

"Eoforhild... no whelp?" he asked cautiously.

She swiftly shook her head. "When he was... satisifed with me, he moved on. The Pitmaster branded my arm." She moved her arm slightly so he could see the numbers scarred into her flesh. "There was... one among us... who... did not pass." She squeezed her eyes shut, and tears spilled down her cheeks as she once again heard the woman's screams. "He gave her to the Pitmaster and his... his lackeys," she sobbed. "They... all of them... raped her, then... tore her to pieces. And he just kept on going down the line."

"Hate master," Aandar murmured. "Don't hate any. Only master. Master don't pay for do. Never pay."

"He will never pay enough, no matter how dead he is made," Eoforhild agreed fiercely. Looking him in the eyes, she said firmly, "I do not own you, Aandar. No one does but _you_."

He frowned at the strangeness of such a notion, and didn't quite know what to think.

They sat in brooding silence for several minutes. Finally, Aandar crawled to the patch of ground he'd prepared and lay down, pillowing his head on his arm. He just stared at the fire, trying not to remember how helpless he'd felt, submitting to his master when he'd only been aware for a few hours and still did not understand what was happening or what his purpose was. It seemed that Thaktor shared a similarly repellent experience, and he wished to be close to her.

Before he could beckon her near, she rose from her place by the fire and slowly walked over. Without a word, she knelt beside him. Her face, so beautiful, hovered over his.

"Promise me," she whispered pleadingly.

Aandar nodded. "No fuck. Promise."

Taking a shuddering breath, Eoforhild slowly lay in front of him, her back just touching his chest. She rested her head on her arm as he was doing and shielded her breasts with the other.

"Touch?" he murmured.

She closed her eyes and bit her lip. It was several moments of debate and worry before she nodded. She barely breathed as his arm encircled her waist.

"No fear," Aandar whispered in her ear. "Aandar not hurt Eoforhild."

She let her breath out slowly, and by degrees, her tension eased. She did not want to admit, not even to herself, how much she needed to just be held, even if the only one to hold her was an Uruk.


	7. Chapter 7

The setting of the moon saw Aandar once more in the bushes alongside their camp, furiously masturbating as he stared avidly at Eoforhild's body through the leaves. His tunic covered her well enough waking, but on lying down for any length of time it seemed inadequate to the task. Now the hem rode up, revealing an enticing hint of her bare buttocks. Even the smallest portion of her revealed was enough for him.

He thought her asleep and unaware of what he was doing. He was wrong.

Eoforhild lay tense and wide-eyed. She'd felt him hardening against her, then drifting awake. Remaining still and silent, she'd hoped he would leave her be... then he rose and left. Relief nearly made her sigh, but she kept quiet. The sounds of his pleasure seemed even more pronounced in the deep night's darkness.

She wished she was somewhere else, or that he had gone further away. As she lay there staring into the fire, her body ached, her loins throbbed, and she was ashamed. Even allowing that he was not _quite_ as repellent as his fellows did not justify such a response to _him_. More horrifying yet was that the notion was not as off-putting as she'd wanted it to be.

_Do not desire him,_ she told herself fiercely. _Do not _want_ him._

Aandar soon returned, and she closed her eyes so he wouldn't know she was awake. Lying down behind her, he did not rest his head, but propped it on his hand. She could _feel _his eyes on her. She startled slightly when she felt him pluck up a strand of her hair.

"Thaktor, _ashâmbul-izub_," he whispered huskily, rubbing her hair between his fingers. He breathed deeply of her scent.

He did nothing else. Eoforhild wondered if she looked upon his face now, what she would see. Judging by the softness of his touch, she suspected she would see the look of a man gazing upon his lover, enjoying the sight of her sleeping beside him, not wishing to disturb her rest. Just drinking her in.

Such tenderness she'd longed for and never received. What she'd experienced wasn't real; it was not _true_ affection shared between real lovers. Aandar's simple gesture spoke of an affection unfettered by the trappings of a business transaction, one that was real and true. She did not want to respond to him, but she couldn't help it, for she'd hungered for such caring for many years.

Aandar drew in another deep breath of her and purred, "Smell good."

Pressed against her as he was, she felt his member stiffening against her nearly bare backside once again. Panic assailed her, and she abruptly sat up. Shaking all over, she gasped for breath.

Startled by Thaktor's sudden movement, Aandar jerked back a little. Where before her scent was most compelling, drawing him toward her, now her fear scent was back and smothering the good smell. He furrowed his brow with disappointment.

"What wrong?" he asked, sitting up. She kept her back to him and hugged herself tightly.

"Please... _don't_," she breathed shakily.

"Don't _what_?" he asked, confused. "Not _do_. Just touch." He leaned around, trying to look at her face, but she turned from him. Frustrated, he growled, "Thaktor smell _good_."

Eoforhild shook her head sharply. "Do not pay attention to what I smell like, please."

Sighing, Aandar said, "All time, smell. Can't _not_ smell. Thak-... Eoforhild smell _good_, some time. Eoforhild smell good, Aandar _want_ smell. Some time, not good. Now, not good. Smell fear. Fear not good for Eoforhild. Don't like fear. Bad smell."

Staring into the darkness beyond the firelight, she slowly nodded. "I fear you. When you touch me as you did just... just now, I fear you."

Frowning even more deeply, Aandar said, "Not _smell_ fear. Smell _good_. Aandar touch. Smell say, touch Thaktor. Smell make Aandar _want_ Eoforhild."

She whirled around and glared at him. "Do _not_ pay attention to what I _smell_ like. _Unless_ it is fear."

"Why smell good?" the Uruk demanded, not wanting to leave the mystery unanswered. He held one hand out, palm up. "Smell good. Aandar touch." He raised his other hand the same way. "Smell bad. Aandar stop." Shaking the first hand for a moment, he said, "Aandar want fuck." He shook the other hand. "Aandar want protect. Why?"

"What is it you want from me, Aandar?" she hissed. "Someone to fuck? Is that all?"

His brow furrowed in serious thought. What _did_ he want? While fucking would normally be the first thing out of his mouth, she'd already said that. If fucking were all he wanted, he would have taken it by now. He could not say any longer that this was _all_ he wanted of her. But how to _tell_ her? His grasp of her tongue was so poor, he didn't think he could ever properly convey what she meant to him.

"Want... _smile_," he ventured cautiously. Eoforhild's eyes widened and her face went slack.

"I beg your pardon?" she whispered incredulously.

Aandar nodded. "Want _laugh_. Want talk. And... and want... _close_." His open and innocent expression told her he had no idea _why_ he craved these things; he only knew he wanted them.

Staring at him, Eoforhild blinked with surprise. She could not believe he wanted such things. To be sure, he wanted sex, but he wanted more than that; he wanted _all_ of her. Just as a Man would.

"Eoforhild... smile?" he asked. A slight smile lifted one side of his mouth. He held up his thumb and forefinger close together. "Small?"

Slowly, her lips curved and she shook her head slowly, incredulously. "You are... so _different_."

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. "Different... good?"

Her smile broadened and she nodded. "Yes. I am glad you are different. You make it easier for me to smile again."

Aandar grinned, feeling warmth down to his bare toes from her smile. "Eoforhild not hate Aandar." Though he sounded confident that this was so, his eyes betrayed a lingering worry that it wasn't.

Eoforhild shook her head. "No. I do not hate you, Aandar."

Nodding with relief, he lay back down. "Sleep now."

It was easier to lie down with him, in spite of her worries. Once she was in his arms and he was pulling her against him, she felt his member rigidly against her backside. She stiffened for a moment, then took a deep breath. She tried to think of something else, or at least not to think about... _that_... or _him_... or anything else that might make her scent entice him. But the task was growing more difficult with each passing moment.

Aandar curled around her contentedly. While the renewed hardening of his cock was not easily ignored, he chose to do so. He didn't want to part from her right now, even to assuage that need. He wanted to be close to Thaktor, in _this_ way. He breathed in her scent and held her in the curve of his body. She was smelling good again, but this time he simply basked in it without a word.

With sleep came another vision of himself in the pool with Thaktor, but this time there were many things different from before. Now she was standing in the shallow end up to her knees. Her left arm covered her breasts and her right hand shielded the dark patch between her legs. Though she was looking at him, her expression was not curious so much as wary. She was coming closer, joining him in the pool, yet she remained protective of herself.

To his surprise, he realized _he_ was in a different position as well. Where before he stood waist-deep, now the water lapped at his chest, completely covering his belly. He had a moment of uncertainty, thinking he would drown if he was not careful. Even in the dream, he drew deep breaths to calm himself.

What did _this_ mean? Unlike the first time, he had no answers, no omniscient clarity.

Another difference was in the very air of this place. There was a nervous tension all about the pool, and once again he feared hidden enemies.

Beyond this worry was the thrill of seeing her unfolding before him, perhaps inviting him closer as his own deeper immersion seemed to imply. He knew, at least, that he must continue to be patient and gently coax her deeper.

* * *

The morning was overcast and chill. Aandar grimaced over his breakfast of rapidly spoiling lynx meat. He wondered if cooking it might make it more palatable after all, which made him chuckle a bit.

He could already see a difference in Thaktor's posture. It seemed that now when she wasn't looking at him, she wasn't _trying_ not to look at him. Her fear scent was diminished; there was more of that good smell about her. In particular when she glanced his way and her face reddened. He wondered what that was about, but wasn't sure how to ask. He didn't know the common word for _karn_.

Shrugging it off for now, Aandar urged an early departure. "Go now," he said, and she nodded. Hoisting his lighter bundle of meat, he led the way further upward.

The lynx fur was not the only thing that carried less of a burden. Aandar walked with his back straight and proud. He felt he had won a great victory. His Thaktor did not hate him, _and_ she was coming closer. He could feel it in her demeanor as well as see it in his dreams.

It slightly diminished his triumph, knowing that he still wanted to fuck her. He was not stupid; he knew when he spoke of _that_, she recoiled. When he honestly conveyed his other desires, she was more receptive. She smiled when he asked for one; perhaps she'd laugh if he thought of something amusing that he could actually make her understand. Somehow he didn't think she'd do either if he asked her for a fuck.

Frustrated with himself for placing so much weight on that momentary pleasure, he scowled as he walked. Never in his experience was a fuck more than just a few minutes' relief from discomfort. Now that he'd been introduced to his own hand, he found he could draw it out longer, but what good would _that_ do? Females didn't like it short _or_ long.

And there it was, he realized sadly. He may want it badly enough to ask and ask and ask, but Thaktor _never_ would. He wondered briefly how in the world Men came to overrun the land, when their females wanted nothing to do with them.

Or maybe they _did_. He frowned. Thaktor said she _used_ to want. Want what? Want fucking? Was _that_ what she meant? It seemed as ridiculous now as it did before, but he ruminated over the idea regardless. It would certainly explain the number of Men, if their females actually _wanted_ fucking.

He nodded, feeling that was a reasonable assumption. They _must_ want it, or there would be fewer Men.

But the Dunlendings raped the females captured in raids, he reminded himself. Maybe it was a wasted effort, since whelping was not intended, but it was still done. No, perhaps he was wrong. Whelping their females must require force, for females didn't like fucking. That was what he'd witnessed, so it must be true.

Still, he did not _want_ to do that to Thaktor. He did not want her hate. If she hated him, she'd leave.

Which gave him pause _again_. She said she hated those who raped her; if Men only raped, and the females they raped _hated_ them, would the females not leave?

It was becoming far too confusing for him to manage on his own. Huffing impatiently, Aandar abruptly stopped and turned to look at Thaktor. She nearly ran into him, lost in her own thoughts.

"Ask," he said gruffly, and Eoforhild met his gaze curiously. "Men rape female?" he asked.

Swallowing uncomfortably, she nodded. "Yes, some... some will do that."

"Only some?" he pressed, raising his eyebrows. "Not all?"

Unsure why he was asking such an odd question, she shook her head. "No, not _all_ Men do that."

Brow furrowing once more, he continued, "Men want whelp, rape female?"

Her eyes shot open wide. "_No_, they most certainly do not!" she replied emphatically. "Whatever made you think that?"

"Only see rape," he said, shrugging. "Don't see other. Dunland fucks rape female."

Closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself, she said slowly, "Dunland and Rohan have ever been... there is great hatred between our people. Just as Orcs and Uruk-hai bear no love for one another. What they... do... is meant to hurt us."

"Uruk rape Rohan female," he said quietly, "tuh hurt Rohan."

She nodded. "Yes."

"Rohan _Men_ fight Uruk, fight Dunland," he pointed out. "Not female. Why hurt _female_?"

Taking a deep breath, Eoforhild replied, "Because hurting _us_ hurts Men. They do not want us... spoiled by others." Lowering her voice and looking away, she added, "Especially not by Uruk-hai."

Aandar thought about this for several moments. Finally, he said, "Eoforhild... spoiled by Uruk. Say, fit only for Orc now."

Her face crumpled and she raised a hand to cover her eyes. "Yes, Aandar. I have been... spoiled. No Man will want me now. If I returned to my folk, I would be alone. _Always_ alone." Stepping around him, she continued up the path, simply wanting to be away from him for a moment as grief assailed her.

"Eoforhild," he called, hurrying after her. "Don't go. Don't hate. Please."

She stopped and turned tearful eyes to him. "I do not hate you, Aandar. But... let us not talk of this anymore. It makes me sad."

"Need _ask_," he insisted. "Eoforhild say, _tell_. How... how Men make whelp? Female don't like fuck. No rape; how make whelp?"

"I do _not_ want to talk about this!" she snapped, pushing him away.

"Tell!" he barked belligerantly, grabbing her by the arm and spinning her to face him. "Female like fuck? Don't like fuck? Tell!"

"You're _hurting_ me!" she cried, prying at his strong fingers.

He abruptly let go and glared at her, his chest heaving with anger. "Eoforhild promise to tell. Aandar _ask_. Ask _good_. Not... bad ask. Don't _know_ what Men do. What _female_ do. Only know what Aandar _see_. So many Men; all time. Many Men. Where Men come? Eh? Female don't want fuck, don't _like_ fuck. Men rape? Say, no rape. So female _want_ fuck?" She was cringing from him, her fear scent up and sickening him.

Furious with himself for frightening her and for not conveying his thoughts in a way that wouldn't sound like a threat to her, Aandar snorted with frustration and stormed away. He left the trail entirely and crashed through the bushes and undergrowth. He was soon swallowed up by the forest and gone.

Eoforhild sagged, her tension releasing in a rush. Leaning against a tree, she rubbed her face with a shaky hand.

Her worst fear with such a line of questioning was that Aandar would learn the truth, and find out that not only had she enjoyed sex in the past, but there was a growing interest in _him_ that humiliated and terrified her. Eoforhild was not a liar, regardless that her profession urged discretion. She could omit truths easily enough, but outright lie? She was not raised that way.

On the other hand, neither was she raised to spread her legs for coin. But truly, what choice had she? Never knowing where the next meal was coming from, once her father's crippling injury robbed him of his will to even _try_. Watching her mother barely scraping by doing laundry or cooking for wealthier households. Her brother's glory-seeking took him far from their mean cottage, selfishly pursuing _his_ ambitions and caring nothing for the family left behind.

She had no skills and only one tradeable commodity. At least she left her own village to make her living. Her parents never knew what became of her. Given what had befallen her in the last several months, that was now a cherished blessing.

No, she was no liar. If he pressed and urged and cajoled enough, she would be unable to conceal the truth from him. The truth... what _was_ the truth? Could she even admit it to herself? Covering her mouth with her hand, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

_The truth, now,_ she told herself firmly. _You look upon Aandar and find... an attractive young man. Though his face is brutal, his body is inviting. You are charmed by his manner. Amused by his wonder. Enthralled by his tenderness. Yes, _tenderness_. He lacks the words, but he has affection for you, and like it or not, it grows within you for him._

Letting out a shuddering breath, her gaze darted to the break in the bushes where Aandar had stomped off. She was glad he could not read thoughts, and was too far away to smell what must surely be happening to her body as she thought of him. Her admission was costly and embarrassing. She did not want him scenting arousal on her when she was not ready to cross that line. Not ready to embrace him as a lover.

Just thinking in such terms made her weak with longing and tense with fear at the same time. Her gut reaction was to his Orkish appearance, and all the things that came to mind in association with that. Yet he'd shown many good qualities that belied the assumptions she'd always subscribed to. He intrigued her in so many ways...

Truly, Aandar was a naive young Uruk who _did not know_ things Eoforhild had known for most of her life. He was merely asking for information, some explanation for the incongruities he'd seen. Of _course_ he would be curious about procreation, as any young boy would who had an interest in sex and little experience with what came after. She knew he was not being provocative or threatening; he simply _did not know_.

And she _had_ promised him answers. Her own fears of what such questions might lead to were what caused her to snap at him, and sent him off in a huff. She'd feared exposing herself; revealing a past she did not want him privvy to, not just yet. Until she could reach a point of acceptance with regards to Aandar, a degree of forgetfulness of what he was before he arrived in the breeding room, before his master's Voice was silenced, she wanted to keep her secrets.

Farther down the trail, she heard footsteps approaching and sighed. He must have circled back. She hoped he'd walked off his anger. He'd shown his general good humor by bouncing back from such temperamental explosions before. Her back to him, she tried to think of what to say, how to mend their differences. The footsteps halted.

"Such a pretty one, left all alone," a gruff, venomous voice hissed.

Stiffening with alarm, Eoforhild whirled around. Her jaw fell open in silent shock.

The Orc drew his dagger and fingered the blade, leering at her. "Where's yer keeper, eh? Gone off tuh hunt? Stupid half-Man, draggin' rotten meat along." He drew in a lengthy sniff of the air. "Ain't so bad I couldn't smell Man cunt as well." He took a step forward and grinned nastily when she retreated. "Right nice'uh the _baalak_, leavin' a free fuck in the middle of the woods for anyone to find."

With one lightning-fast grab, he had her by the arm. Eoforhild found her voice and screamed.


	8. Chapter 8

Aandar was furious, but mostly with himself. His weak grasp of the common tongue, _her_ tongue, made everything that came out of his mouth a load of shit or a threat. How could he make her understand that he didn't ask because he wanted to do her harm? It was a mystery that only Thaktor could answer, for she knew the ways of Men and he didn't.

Always in Isengard, his questions were shoved aside, or he was told not to ask. That he was better off _not_ knowing. If he persisted, his officer would dangle the piss-pit keys in front of his face as a warning. Sometimes there was no warning at all. Eventually, he stopped asking.

Thaktor said she'd answer his questions, yet when he _asked_, she refused to tell. It was no different from Isengard. He asked questions, and not only would he not be given answers, they would do something bad to him to keep him from asking again. He hated not knowing things, especially things others knew, because it made him appear stupid, or unworthy of being privvy to such knowledge.

Frustrated and angry, he swiped at bushes with his claws in passing. He knew he wasn't stupid. He _knew_ it. But it seemed that everything he did or said proved how wrong he was.

Stopping after several minutes of fuming, he took deep breaths to calm himself. Aandar wondered if he had the answer to his question already, just from the observations he's made so far. Leaning back against a tree, he pondered what he knew.

Thaktor feared him at first, that much was true. The stench of it was overwhelming. Yet in the breeding room, he hadn't picked up any fear from her. Frowning, he tried to remember. If anything, she smelled... dead. Not like a rotted carcass, but someone who neither fears nor wants. There was no scent calling him to her, none driving him away. Just... lifelessness. Was that shame? Or perhaps despair? He couldn't be sure.

After they escaped the tunnel, she had a strong fear scent, which he expected. It was familiar enough in his experience, and didn't bother him particularly. Yet the longer he spent in her company, the less he liked it, until it became nauseating to smell such a thing from her. Then quite out of the blue came the _good_ smell.

He had to really examine that. What in the world did it _mean_? He knew what it did to him; a scent like that coming from _her_ made his cock hard and desperate for relief. It made him want to touch her, to run his hands all over her. He could say easily that Thaktor's body begged for touching already, but when that smell was coming from her, it was much harder to resist the urge. Not just his hands, but his entire body craved closeness and contact. Down to the most insistent part of him.

It made him want to fuck. _Need_ to fuck. His hand was good, but it wasn't _enough_. He needed to fuck _her_.

He had to take a deep breath to calm himself again, for thinking about it now was working him up. He shook his head to clear it. Forcing himself to focus on the original question, he decided that, because she insisted Men did not rape their females to make whelps, it must mean the females _did_ want fucking. Sometimes.

Not raping, though. They didn't want _that_.

A completely insane thought suddenly came to his mind: what if that good smell of Thaktor's meant... she wanted fucking? Was that what it was _for_? A scent to call a male to her for a fuck?

He almost laughed out loud. There were no males for miles around but _him_. Why would she...?

The quiet of the forest was rent by the sound of Thaktor's screaming.

It was nothing like when she screamed before; there was _terror_ in it this time. Aandar didn't hesitate; he launched himself back through the underbrush like a bolt of lightning, heedless of the noise he made. Leaping over fallen trees and dodging boulders, he burst onto the game trail.

His mind processed quickly what his eyes beheld: a fur and hide covered Orc, clearly a native of these mountains, atop Thaktor and furiously batting away her flailing limbs as she fought him. He was between her legs but had not yet pulled his cock free. A moment of hesitation on Aandar's part back in the woods might have told a different tale.

Without breaking stride, the much larger Uruk rammed into the Orc from his blind side, throwing him completely off Thaktor and into the underbrush on the other side of the trail. Overwhelmed with territorial possessiveness, Aandar tore at the Orc with claws and teeth, not even registering the blows he was receiving in return. He clamped his jaws down over the foul-smelling Orc's throat and dug his sharp teeth in, but he didn't let go or tear out; he held on tightly, cutting off the Orc's air. Claws he employed on the furs, ripping them open to expose the vulnerable flesh beneath. Several furious swipes scored the Orc's belly in preparation.

Aandar released his choking hold and sat up, then drew his arm back, straightened his fingers, and drove his hand into the Orc's gut with all his strength. His claws cut through the lacerated skin and muscle. Aandar grabbed a fistful of intestines and pulled them out. A second reach into the now convulsing but still living Orc and the Uruk dug high into the chest cavity. Finding what he was looking for, he wrested the Orc's heart free and yanked it out. Glaring at the Orc's slack-jawed, dying face, Aandar shoved the creature's quivering, bloody heart into its owner's mouth.

The Orc twitched for several minutes after its death, but Aandar spared it no further thought. He hastened to Thaktor's side.

She was sobbing wildly and holding herself, tucked in a tight ball. He reached out to touch her arm, just to let her know it was over and he was there, but when he saw his blood-soaked hand, he retreated.

"Eoforhild," he called softly. "Eoforhild hurt?" He got no response. He sniffed the air; while there was a slight scent of Mannish blood, it was not nearly enough to cause significant worry. "Must go. Orc don't hunt alone. More come. Must _go_."

Her violent shivering wrenched his gut; he wanted to pull her into his arms, but she held herself against him as she had in the pool when he first saw her there. He remembered vividly her struggle against him when he sought to comfort her at the stream, thinking something worse than her own reflection had frightened her. Now something worse _had_ happened, and he knew she would not want him touching her.

Unsure what else to do, he returned to the Orc's corpse. In its lifeless hand was a knife, and Aandar blinked with surprise. As if acknowledgement of the weapon freed some block in his mind, he suddenly felt a stabbing pain in his back, as well as fresh cuts across his ribs. He couldn't see what damage was done. All he could be sure of was that he'd had much worse before, but he would feel better if Thaktor had a look and reassured him that it wasn't bad. But perhaps he should ask it of her later.

Regardless, the Orc had weapons. Aandar brushed off his injuries and searched the corpse. Belted to the Orc's thick waist was a short sword, and strapped to his back was a bow and a quiver with a dozen arrows. Relief flooded him; a bow, at last. He'd be better on the hunt with this weapon. And if he could bring down some birds, he'd be able to fletch his own arrows.

There wasn't much else the dirty Orc had that Aandar would want, so he took the weapons and left the corpse where it lay. Returning to Thaktor, he was pleased to see that she was sitting up now, though she was still hugging herself and staring at nothing. He slowly approached and squatted down where she could see him. She started and flinched; she only met his eyes for a moment before looking away.

"Orc dead," he said quietly. "Kill for Eoforhild. Hear scream, Aandar come. Protect." She raised her head and looked at him, her chin quivering as she held back tears. Only a few moments in the gaze of such tormented eyes made him falter and bow his head in shame.

He'd failed her, he knew. She would remember this.

Firming his resolve, he forced himself to look in her eyes again. "Must go. More Orc come." Her eyes widened with horror. He rose and offered his hand to help her up.

Eoforhild didn't take it, and he soon saw why; the Orc had rent Aandar's ragged tunic completely open. She held the garment closed with trembling hands as she struggled to stand.

She said nothing as they hurried up the game trail, leaving the dead Orc far behind. Aandar's chief worry at the moment was that they were not heading _away_ from that Orc's folk, but rather _toward_ them. Perhaps the hunter was on his way back, though the absence of any dead game in his possession indicated just the opposite. It didn't matter; Aandar knew Orcs were rarely out on their own. It was just as likely he was part of a larger hunting party and just happened to be a bit further away from his fellows than intended. Or he was indeed alone, but not appreciably far from his fellows.

The Uruk fretted over the possibilities as he led the way up the mountain.

Behind him, Eoforhild hugged her stomach and stared unblinking at Aandar's clawed feet as he walked swiftly in front of her. She felt no stirrings of interest now; it was all she could do to keep from vomiting. Yet as she glanced up at his back, she realized that the blood from the Orc that soaked his front was nearly as plentiful down Aandar's back. Several jagged cuts raked across his ribs, and at least three somewhat shallow stab wounds could be seen in the same general area. Clearly while he grappled the Orc, Aandar's bare torso was left vulnerable to the Orc's knife.

The Orc had used it to cut open her clothing, then chuckled at the pointlessness of going to such an effort, for she wore nothing beneath. She shook herself, shying away from the details of the attack. Trying not to _feel_ the Orc's filthy hands all over her, or _smell_ the putrid breath in her face...

By the time of the third Uruk, she was so defeated and resigned to her fate that she _willingly _climbed upon the table and made no protest to being strapped down. Truly, there was no point; while the Pitmaster and his lackeys were not permitted to rape her themselves, they were not prevented from doing other harmful things to her. Compliance meant avoidance of worse torments than rape. Why was it so much worse to be assaulted unbound, with limbs free to fight in vain, than to be strapped to a table without recourse or defense? She did not have an answer, except to weep quietly in the Uruk's wake and wish she'd been slain by the beast.

The longer they walked, the angrier Aandar became. He had thought the argument with Thaktor was a sufficient threat to her progress in the pool of his dreams; the _snaga_'s inopportune arrival and assault would undoubtedly drive her completely out of it. The Uruk wasn't stupid; Thaktor retreated cringing whenever fucking and raping were discussed. He'd learned the hard way that even general questions not specifically to do with _her_ were considered threatening. It was true that _he_ hadn't hurt her; Aandar had restrained himself and done all he could think of to ease her fears of him and his folk. Or him, at least. Perhaps there was nothing he could do about his kind where she was concerned. Not that it mattered anymore, if he was truly the last.

The actions of that fucking _snaga_ were sure to undo all Aandar had accomplished. Worse, the Orc caused Thaktor pain. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she moved, in the way she _smelled_... While there was a resurgence of her earlier fear smell, there was that _dead _smell lingering about. He knew all hope of even being _accepted_ by her was lost now. There would be no more smiles. The little one he coaxed from her would never come again.

Aandar felt utterly helpless as he marched relentlessly forward, listening to her hitching sobs and occasional quiet whimpers. Every sound she made sickened him because he could do _nothing_. It was difficult to focus on the danger they were in, the possible presence of even more wandering _snaga_, while his thoughts were so consumed by his Thaktor.

No. She was not his. She would _never_ be his. Though he would continue to protect her and care for her as if she were, he knew it could never be so. He may as well accept that truth.

* * *

Late in the afternoon, Aandar found a stream and gratefully angled toward it. He needed to wash the _snaga_'s blood and stench off his body. Thaktor had gone quiet over an hour before, so perhaps it would be safe to have her examine his back.

One look at how she shielded herself from him as she furiously scrubbed her body clean of the Orc's filth told him to swallow his request and suffer through quietly.

Dunking his head in the water, he dragged knots and tangles free and rubbed his scalp. He rarely had opportunities to wash himself completely, and while now would likely not be a good time to peel off his breeches, he could at least get his hair farther from disgusting than it usually was in the pits and after a battle.

There was really nothing he could do now, he found. He'd gone too long since the last good wash and his mane was matted beyond reckoning. Sighing, he took out the Orc's knife and began sawing through great lengths of clumped hair.

Eoforhild knelt by the stream and stared into the water. She was dimly aware of what he was doing in a detached sort of way. All that seemed to matter right now was that he wasn't coming near her. He wasn't trying to talk to her, or continue their earlier conversation. Dread of their camping filled her and she trembled at the thought of being held by him. And yet...

She needed his arms about her. There was no one to comfort her in the black despair that had descended, none who knew of her pain, none who cared, save Aandar. Perhaps he kept his distance out of respect for her, or because he simply _didn't_ care. He'd said nothing else once they moved on, and kept his distance and silence even now. She had no idea what thoughts were going through his mind. She did not even know what he did to the Orc.

The beast's desperate and agonized snarling had certainly pleased her after what it tried to do. She'd felt a certain degree of smugness, seeing the quantity of blood on Aandar's hands when he was finished with it. But she hadn't wanted to know anything else.

Revulsion clenched her stomach, thinking of the Orc and what might have happened had Aandar been even a little delayed. She began to tremble with hopeless fear and stared across the small stream at the trees beyond.

This was how it would be, always. And how it had ever been. In her sorrow, she saw all her wretched history as one endless usage of her body, forgetting all the moments when she was sought for more than physical pleasures. Now that it was quiet and she was still, self-loathing came on the crest of a despairing wave.

What use was she? What did she have to offer _anyone_? What part of her was worth _anything_? Nothing, she now realized, except her cunt. She had disdained Aandar's folk for using their bodies as currency, but had she truly done anything different? Did it matter that she was given coin for a fuck, when the money only went to landlords and merchants? Some of whom were her customers anyway? She may as well have removed the middle step, and simply fucked those men for food and housing. _How_ was it different?

Despair rolled over her like the legendary _m__û__makil_, and she was bowed under its weight. Leaning on her hands, she squeezed her eyes shut so she would not see her hideous face in the water.

She'd believed it was her choice to become a prostitute, that it was a necessary evil for securing her comfort, perhaps buying a future that was not quite so strained by want. Now she saw its ugliness for what it was, and remembered the weary nights, when the last thing she wanted was sex, but the wish to abstain for a bit of rest was not indulged. Her madam was not a cruel woman, but neither was she overwhelmed by sentiment. Her ladies earned profits only when they were on their backs, not when they were nursing illness or simply did not _feel_ like it.

How many men had fucked her nearly to vomiting? How many had struck her for daring to ask for an easier night than they'd expected to receive and paid hard-earned money for? Indeed, how many had paid little and taken more?

She wanted to remember having control, but the harsh reality was that she had none then, and even less now. Sooner or later, Aandar would weary of her refusal. His hand would no longer be enough, and he would cease to care what she said. He would do what _all_ his folk did.

Was there even a point in resistance anymore? Perhaps he did not use a whip or cudgel, but he was an Orc. He did not _need_ to use such weapons as the Pitmaster possessed to force her compliance. And truly, what else did she have to give? What else could he possibly _want_?

In her despair, she recalled what he'd said. The price was fuck. It was always fuck. Whether in or out of Isengard, that was always the price.

Aandar cut back his hair to a more manageable length, now sweeping between his shoulderblades where before it reached to his waist, and this pleased him. Much easier to wash now. Sheathing the knife, he looked over at Thaktor and gauged her tension. She was simply kneeling there, trembling and clutching the frayed tunic tightly about her. As if noting his attention, she slowly turned her head and met his eyes.

Without turning away, she closed her eyes and grimaced. When she spoke, her voice hoarse from weeping, he was shocked by her words.

"You will... want payment," she said shakily, her lip quivering. "I cannot... take your part again or... pay... enough. It will never be enough." She bit her lip and slowly shifted to face him. Turning her face away and wincing, she opened the tunic, revealing herself to him. "Take it," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Take your fuck."

Blinking, Aandar froze and stared at her, his mouth slightly open. He could barely muster a response, but managed to whisper, "What?"

"_Fuck me_," Eoforhild snarled. "That is all I am to _anyone_. It is all I am worth, and all that has _ever_ been wanted of me. You want it, you can _have it_."

Even though Thaktor told him not to pay attention to what she smelled like, her scent right now was telling him to stay the fuck away from her. There was nothing good about _this_ smell. Swallowing, he tried to steady his own voice, for the offer was as tempting as it was suspiciously untrue.

"Eoforhild... don't want fuck," he said carefully. He tapped the side of his blunt nose. "Aandar smell. Not _good_. Eoforhild say, don't smell. Say, forget smell." He shook his head. "Can't. Eoforhild mouth say, take fuck. Eoforhild _smell_ say, go away. Say, don't touch. Say... say..." His face crumpled and his chin quivered. His eyes blurred wetly. "Say Eoforhild _hate_ Aandar." He swiftly bowed his head so she wouldn't see, and roughly dragged his arm across his eyes.

When he'd composed himself somewhat, he looked up at her again. She was watching him, her own tears flowing freely. He reached out and gently pulled the tunic closed. Shaking his head, he whispered, "No fuck. No... no touch. No... hate. Please?"

Covering her face with her hands, Eoforhild sobbed bitterly. "I am sorry. _So_ sorry." Meeting his eyes, she breathed, "I have... forgotten... so much. I did not want to think... Oh Aandar, you... you saved me, and I repay your deed with harsh words and... accusations... I do not hate you." She shook her head. "I do not hate you."

Sighing with relief, the Uruk said quietly, "Eoforhild forget. Aandar want _smile_." One side of his mouth tipped up ruefully. "Know Eoforhild not want fuck from Aandar. Never want."

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him otherwise, but at this moment, she did not want to make foolish promises she could not keep. Perhaps later, when she felt stronger, and she was more convinced of his affection for her...

Yet in spite of heated words spoken between them, he'd come running when she called. Regardless that she had witnessed the result of bloodlust in the Uruk-hai first hand, he'd stayed his hand. He'd clearly remembered how much he frightened her before when he embraced her at the other stream. He kept a respectful distance this time, seeming to understand her need. Perhaps... he _did_ care.

And perhaps she did as well.

Instead of directly answering him, Eoforhild whispered, "You are... hurt."

He tilted his head a little, and his smile warmed. "Small hurt. Aandar live." He shrugged dismissively.

"Let me clean them, at least."

He nodded and presented his back to her, gripping his knees. He heard her ripping the tunic, perhaps making a rag to wash him with. He swallowed hard and tried not to let her gesture make a fool of him.

He heard her dipping the rag into the water, ringing it out, then felt the slight sting as she began washing his back. _This_ now... her hands on him, smoothing over his hide though a wadded up shirt piece separated his flesh from hers... His cock ignored all other cautions and admonitions, and hardened to painful fullness within seconds.

It was damned annoying, and difficult to endure, but he clenched his jaw and shot furious glances at his privates for willfully ignoring all that had passed between him and Thaktor.

_I will deal with you later_, he promised his cock. _Frighten or anger her, and you will get nothing._

Satisfied that he'd made his will clear, he sighed with contentment.

* * *

Their weary feet brought them at nightfall to a small dark opening in a rocky cliff face. Aandar ducked inside to assess the depth and emptiness of the hollow, the short sword held in one hand. The entrance was partially obscured by undergrowth and vines; had a flight of bats not winged from the opening as they approached, he might not have seen it at all.

Getting inside required crawling, then it opened up rather expansively. There was at least half a foot between the top of Aandar's head and the ceiling in most places. He felt along the walls in the pitch blackness and found that the cave had a few short tunnels but nothing that went back very far. At knee level, there were some smaller holes, but he couldn't smell anything Orkish about the place; perhaps wintering animals had been here recently, but they were gone now. If they came back, he thought with a grin, he'd be waiting for them.

Bringing Thaktor inside, he quickly built up a fire near the entrance, for the sun had gone down and very little light came through the overgrown entrance. He was almost giddy; here they could make a home, he was sure of it. No _snaga_ had been here, and it was dry.

For Eoforhild, the weighty, rugged stone was like, yet different from, the underground reaches of Isengard. She hugged herself against the earth's chill and let her eyes roam about as the firelight flickered off the walls. The short tunnels gaped like beastly mouths and seemed to snarl in the wavering light.

Turning away from the back of the cave, she sat before the fire, facing the entrance, and warmed her hands. As an afterthought, she pulled the tunic tightly around her body.

"Fire good?" Aandar asked as he settled down beside her. "Warm?"

Eoforhild nodded, glancing up at his face. He seemed so... worried. As though afraid he'd offend her simply by speaking.

She'd denied him a proper answer, and now he feared repeating the question. Truly, he can't have been threatening her with such inquiries. Had he dismissed her cries and left her to fend for herself? No, he had not. Did he dispatch her attacker only to assault her himself? No, he did not. Perhaps, then, she could answer his question.

"Do you... still seek an answer, Aandar?" she asked quietly, fixing her gaze on the fire.

"_Akh_," he replied softly.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "Yes. Females... _women_... do want... sex." Looking up at him, she added, "_Sometimes_. We do not always want it."

He nodded his understanding, so afraid that if he opened his dumb mouth, he'd say something hurtful. But there was more to it. Grimacing, he forced himself to risk it.

"What... good smell mean? Eoforhild... smell good. Want... Eoforhild _want_?" Seeing her bristle, he hastily added, "Not Aandar. Know Eoforhild don't want Aandar."

"It is... my shame," she said quietly. "After all that I have endured, to still... Yes, Aandar. What you smell is... my... desire... for sex."

"Smell good," he agreed. "Make Aandar... _Nar_. Don't say. Forget." His thin lips twitched in a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Eoforhild want Man." He nodded, assured of his assessment. "Not Uruk."

"Aandar," she said carefully, "I do not think... that is entirely true."

Frowning, he tilted his head. "Don't want Man?"

"No," she sighed. "I... confess... Now please understand," she cautioned, "I want nothing and no one right now."

He shrugged and nodded. "Aandar know." He tapped his nose again. "Don't smell _good_ smell. Eoforhild don't want."

"That is right," she replied with relief. "I do not. And even when... when I... when I smell good to you, that does not mean... You must still listen to me, do you understand? You must be sure of... you must _ask_."

His brow furrowed, uncomprehending. "Ask? What ask?"

"Permission," she said. "Do you understand me?"

Jerking back with surprise, Aandar looked at her incredulously. "Permission? For... for fuck?"

"Yes," she nodded. "You are very different from your folk, Aandar. But not so different from Men. I see in you... so much... that I want. Sometimes I cannot help what... being near you... does to me."

He blinked at her, unsure what to think. Was she truly saying what he _thought_ she was saying?

"Aandar," she said sadly, her eyes glistening. "I need you... to hold me. I have needed it for many hours. We are safe now, are we not?"

Shaking himself from shock, he quickly nodded. "_Akh_. Safe."

"Just... hold me, if you could?" she asked, moving closer.

He swallowed hard and nodded, then she was hesitantly climbing into his lap. Making sure the tunic concealed her well enough, she embraced him, placing her head on his shoulder. He held her close, and eventually closed his eyes, relaxing. Though he'd thought her spent of tears by now, she still wept softly in his arms. He bowed his head and pressed his cheek to her hair, murmuring _ashâmbal-izub_ and rocking slowly.

She wanted him, he realized. Not at this moment, and perhaps not in the next, but all the same... she wanted _him_. He could not say that, at any point in his short life, anyone had _ever_ wanted him.


	9. Chapter 9

While Aandar dealt with what embracing Eoforhild in his lap had done to him, taking advantage of one of the tunnels for privacy of sight if not sound, she sat quietly and found she was calm. Somehow, her fears had drifted away with the smoke that curled up from their fire and floated out the tunnel, and was just as completely dispersed by the light breeze that blew outside.

She made a foul offer that was refused; spoke a humiliating confession that was understood but not acted upon. Unheard of in her experience, Aandar had _respected_ her. He'd already shown he possessed honor. Though there was a part of her that still wished to give warning, that still wanted her to be watchful for cunning and deceit, she saw and felt neither in the Uruk.

Another part wanted her to _look_ at him. _See_ what he was. Connect him to the one who attacked her that morning. Make him one with those who had raped her, for he would have done the same in that breeding room had injury not prevented it. Yet she could not. Perhaps she could see beyond such things because she had shared a bed with several men who were Men by name only, so roughly did they use her with no concern for her body but as a vehicle for their pleasure. Was it any less hideous than what she'd endured at the hands of the Uruk-hai? They were her own people, yet the only difference between them and the creatures they slew with righteous hatred was that money exchanged hands when they sought a particular kind of fuck.

Some paid extra for their whore to feign resistance. To scream. To beg. To weep. Eoforhild had complied in such vile play on several occasions, assuaging her intense disgust with the hope that if they spent their urges upon _her_, an innocent maiden would not suffer that night.

No. Aandar was no worse than Men. Perhaps no Orc _was_.

When he returned, he sat beside her and steadied himself with deep breaths as he stared into the fire. A slight smile curved his mouth. The good smell was not there, but neither was the fear. He stole a glance at her face and sighed, relaxing.

"Sleep?" Aandar suggested quietly. She tensed only slightly, then settled almost immediately.

"Yes," she nodded. "I am very tired."

"Promise," he reminded her. "No good smell, no permission, Aandar not touch. Not fuck. Promise."

Though she pulled the tunic tighter about her, Eoforhild replied softly, "I know. You are... a good... Uruk, Aandar. Thank you for... for everything. You were most brave."

A proud grin threatened, and he chuckled. "_Snaga_ shit. Easy. Kill for Thaktor. Promise protect."

She nodded. Searching his face, she found it far easier to look upon him now. Brow furrowing, she bit her lip. Hesitantly, she raised her hand and brushed her fingers down his cheek. "I... _trust_ you, Aandar," she whispered, surprising herself with the truth of it.

Closing his eyes and frowning, Aandar took a shuddering breath. "Aandar _promise_," he growled, flinching as if her words were blows. "Give _word_." His brow pinched as he looked at her pleadingly. "_Promise_."

Eoforhild furrowed her brow in confusion. "I know you have," she nodded. "You have proven yourself in my eyes, Aandar. I _trust_ you."

He flinched again and drew away. "No trust. Trust _bad_. Uruk say, 'trust me.' Give summat, maybe. Do summat good." His breath quickened and he swallowed uncomfortably. "Then do _bad_. Always. Do hurt. Take fuck. Take... good weapon, take meat... _'Trust me.'_" He shook his head sharply. "No trust. Trust _bad_."

"No, Aandar," she said, "trust is _not_ bad." Sighing, she sagged. "What was _not_ twisted into ugliness there?" she murmured to herself. Her hand strayed unconsciously to her scarred cheek. Shaking herself, she looked at the Uruk. "Trust, among Men, is a precious thing. It is something that is earned through word and deed." Regarding his uncertain expression, she reached out and took his hand. His skin was leathery and rough, but no worse than a hard-working farmer's. His claws were sharp, yet they had never torn her skin. Taking a deep breath, she said, "You have respected my wishes. I know you... suffer. That you... need..." She stopped and looked away for a moment. "I know. Yet you... attend to such matters alone."

"Not easy," he muttered. Even now, the simplicity of her holding his hand was reinvigorating his cock. It was irritating, how often it demanded attention. He'd never liked being at the mercy of others. It was galling to be in thrall to his own body.

"I know," she nodded. "It is because it is not easy for you that I _trust_ you, Aandar. Can you honestly say that if we had... met... in a village months ago, you would have heeded my words? Would you have denied your lusts and turned from me?"

Shifting uncomfortably, he shook his head. "But... Eoforhild... No different. Want fuck. Want _bad_. Think other thing, but... think fuck some time. Most time." Sighing, he growled to himself, "_All_ time."

"Hear me, Aandar," she said sternly. "You may want it, the thought of it may plague you, but you do not _take_ it from me. You know I do not want to be treated so basely. You _know_ I... I would _hate_ you. You are beyond your master's reach now, and you do not want the hatred of others anymore. And so you do not seek it."

He shook his head. "Don't want hate. Just want... live. Safe. With Thak-... Eoforhild." A slight smile turned up one side of his mouth.

"And so I trust you," she replied. "A Man may trust another Man who has made a promise and held to it. If he has sworn to... protect... and risked his life to do so. You have kept _your_ promise. You have given your word and not done me harm. You swore to protect me and took such risks to see to it. You _bled_ for me, Aandar. I _trust_ you."

He found he was nearly as undone by her words as by her touch. _Kaanat_, he thought, only now understanding what the word must _truly_ mean, and thrilling to the notion that she felt such a strong and important thing for _him_.

There were no Uruk-hai he could trust; most made you pay for every little thing with a fight or a fuck. The ones he trusted not to knife him in the barracks or to have his back in a raid didn't always extend that trustworthiness into other areas. He could trust his trainer to give him what he needed to stay alive in a fight, for instance, but if a bunch of other Uruks came after Aandar for a take down and fuck, the trainer smirked and looked the other way. An Uruk who might have his back in the barracks and fight at his side when the frenzied gang rape of one Uruk spread throughout the room to others, always stopped being any help when Aandar refused to submit to a fuck from _him_.

There was nothing remotely like the trust Thaktor spoke of in Isengard, nor was that sort of thing encouraged. Perhaps their master didn't _let_ them trust one another. Would learning to trust give them something their master did not _want_ them to have? He was beginning to understand that anything their master denied them must be a thing to treasure. Something to embrace and hold close so that it could never be taken away.

Aandar took her hand and settled his face in her palm, nuzzling the one part of her that was unblemished. She barely recoiled, allowing him to rub and mouth her smooth, soft flesh. _Trusting him_.

"Aandar trust Eoforhild," he murmured. "Eoforhild trust Aandar. Always. Not do bad thing... and no trust. Good, trust. Strong trust. _Always_ trust."

"I have earned your trust, Aandar?" Eoforhild asked breathlessly. The feel of his lips on her palm made her tremble.

"_Akh_," he breathed, holding her hand to his cheek and closing his eyes. "Aandar trust. Eoforhild say, no leave. Not leave. Say, stay. Eoforhild stay." His eyes blinked open and he looked at her. "Say, want Aandar. True?"

She hesitated. That was, after all, what she'd said. Taking a deep breath, she bowed her head so she wouldn't have to see the hurt in his eyes. "What I said... was true, Aandar. But... there is more..." Her lip trembled, knowing he wouldn't understand, or worse that he _would_. She slowly drew her hand back. "I cannot... _yet_... see beyond... You are still an Orc to me. I still see _that_. And my folk do not... we... we do _not_..." She winced at her own words. Steeling her resolve, she forced herself to meet his gaze.

He was looking away, his face an unreadable mask. His mouth twitched as he ground his jaw. "Just... Uruk. All time," he growled low. "No Man. Eoforhild want see _Man;_ look, see Uruk. Ugly fuck Uruk. Bad Uruk. Never see... Aandar _Man._ Just Aandar Uruk."

"I have known Men... who seemed no different from Orcs," she said quietly. He looked at her sharply. "And I... fucked them... though they _acted_ like Orcs. Because... that is what I... used to do. What I was _paid_ to do."

Aandar was struck speechless, and did not know quite what to say or how to interpret what she was saying. Narrowing his eyes, he ventured cautiously, "Eoforhild... fuck... _Orc-Men_?"

Without looking at him, she shook her head. "No. I fucked _Men._ A great many of them, and they paid me well for the... service."

He nodded his understanding. "_Akh_. Eoforhild want _Men_. Not Uruk. Not... not Aandar." He smiled a little and forced a laugh. "Eoforhild lie, say want Aandar. Make Aandar... not sad. Know better." He shook his head. "Don't want Aandar."

"I was not lying," she said. "And I certainly did not say... what I said... so _you_ would not be sad." She stared at him, incredulous. Had she made such a statement to a Man... "Do you not understand what I am saying, Aandar?"

"Not dumb," he snarled. "Say, fuck Men. Get pay. Understand. Not _dumb_."

"I am not... I am not saying you are _dumb_, Aandar," she said carefully. "I just... would have expected..." Sighing, she shrugged. "A Man would have reacted differently."

"Not _Man_," Aandar growled sullenly. "_Never_ Man."

"No, you are not," she replied quietly. "A Man would have... thought less of me. He would have assumed... I am free for the taking. Because of what I am... what I _was_."

The Uruk looked at her curiously. "Say, fuck for... for _coin_, _akh_? Not free."

"Yes," she said, humiliated. "I criticized your folk for... the price you paid for things you needed. I was no different. Coins bought me food and shelter. They provided me with... security and... perhaps a certain amount of... prestige. But... to get them, I... paid with my body."

"Say, _want_," Aandar said softly. "Then... _not_ want. Fuck good? Then... bad?"

A pained smile twitched her mouth. "I wanted to believe so. I told myself... many lies. But... perhaps not _that_ one. Yes, Aandar. I did... enjoy it. Sometimes very much. But not always. Most of the time, it was... disgusting." She winced and looked away.

"Eoforhild... shame?" he asked hesitantly. "Fuck for coin... _shame_?"

She slowly nodded. "Among Men... yes. Men will condemn such things with one hand, while the other passes a handful of coins to the madam. A Man will hurl insults in the street when his fellows are watching, yet take a whore to his bed when they are not." Sighing, she said, "I did not tell you this before because I feared what you would do. I believed you would not... respect my unwillingness to... pay such a price to _you_, if you knew."

"Men... ask permission?" he ventured. "And... Eoforhild fuck?"

"It was not... permission, exactly," she said awkwardly. "Do you not know of... But I suppose you must not. I cannot imagine, from what you have said, that any of your kind would _willingly_..."

Aandar shrugged. "Some, _akh_. Call _globatish_. Give fuck to any. Hand fuck, some time. Suck cock." He grinned. "Suck good. Not like fuck. Fuck better."

"I see," she said, bizarrely intrigued. While a man's preference for another man had long eluded her understanding, it was different enough to be... interesting. "Did you..."

"_Nar_, Aandar not _globatish_," he snapped, clearly affronted.

"No, I mean... did you... use one?" she clarified.

He nodded. "Some time. Uruk need fuck, always. No female, fuck Uruk." His brow furrowed and he looked at her thoughtfully. "Many time... rape Uruk for fuck. Want fuck, _take_ fuck. Shame Uruk." Again, he was troubled by what he'd done. It was an uncomfortable feeling, almost as though he held as much shame in the taking as his victims did.

Furrowing his brow, he looked at Thaktor and chewed his lip for a moment. "Rape... _globatish_. Some time."

"But... you just said... I thought you said they were willing?"

"Most, _akh_. Most want fuck. One... _not_ want." He swallowed and bowed his head. "Aandar want... join. Don't join, Nûlkol hurt. So Aandar join. Maybe... no hurt."

"He... hurt you? If you did not do what he told you to do?" she asked.

Flinching at the memories, Aandar seemed to take on the appearance of a young boy quite suddenly. Eoforhild could feel the horrors coming over him and wanted nothing more than to embrace him, shield him from them. His face contorted in remembered pain.

"Always say, dumb mouth," he whispered. "Say, shut fucking mouth, Aandar. Not good for nothin'. Say other thing. All time. Nûlkol want fuck, take fuck. Always get." He shuddered and hunched his shoulders forward. "Mark Aandar. Say, Nûlkol take fuck from Aandar. All see mark, all know." Grimacing, he raised a shaky hand to point at several scars on his face made from claws gripping his chin. "Rape mouth," he muttered so low Eoforhild almost didn't hear. He pointed to his hips, covered with leather breeches. "Rape ass. Many time. Make mark. All know."

He finally looked up at her. "Say, need help, take fuck from Ghrulagûrz. Say, Aandar take fuck after Nûlkol. Or... or take from Aandar... and Nûlkol make more mark." His hand gestured to his face, clearly indicating what part of him would be marked to show where Nûlkol had raped him.

Eoforhild had only once been fucked in the mouth by a man who played rough. She knew how unpleasant it could be, and gently took his hand.

"Nûlkol make... hurt," he whimpered, squeezing her hand. "Always hurt. Don't want hurt." He met her gaze, his eyes pleading. "Don't hurt Eoforhild. Know hurt. Hurt bad. Hurt... make wet." He brushed the back of his finger down her cheek briefly. "Make Ghrulagûrz wet. Many wet."

"He wept," she breathed. "You and... this Uruk raped him, and he wept."

Aandar winced and looked away again. "Not Nûlkol and Aandar. Nûlkol, Aandar... other Uruk. Three Uruk, four... some time five. Many Uruk, take fuck from Ghrulagûrz." He raised his hand over his head at least a foot. "_Big_ Uruk, Ghrulagûrz. Old. Many many moon. Many scar. _Globatish_ long time."

"I suppose it is fortunate... for your sake, that he is dead now," Eoforhild ventured. "How he must have... hated those who..."

"_Akh_," Aandar said miserably. "Dead now. Good. Kill Aandar. Slow, like. Hate Aandar. Hate Nûlkol. Hate all Uruk. Hide, all time. Nûlkol always find."

The more he spoke, the worse he felt. Aandar had never truly thought about the giant _globatish_, or what _he_ might think. It was a source of amusement to Nûlkol that raping Ghrulagûrz brought Mannish tears to match his Mannish hide. That Aandar took pleasure in running his hands over the struggling Uruk's body as he raped him while others held him down nearly made him sick now.

When was fucking _ever_ good? he wondered. Only a handful of Uruks were accommodating, and so were in such great demand Aandar rarely had a go at one. The rest of the time, it was rape or a coerced fuck for some bit of commerce. Beyond the walls of Isengard, there was still more rape. The fucking _felt_ good; he could not deny that. The pleasure of release could make him forget how he achieved it. Yet now, remembering the _globatish's_ tears, seeing Thaktor after the mere _threat_ of rape, made him ashamed that he'd ever done it. He had caused pain in Ghrulagûrz; had been the reason for the sort of agony Thaktor felt. He must never wield such a weapon again.

The fire had burned low as they spoke, and Aandar lurched to his feet to fetch more wood from outside. Eoforhild sighed with amazement. She'd told him what she was, and not only had he not been particularly affected by the revelation, he'd not considered such a thing out of the ordinary. To her surprise, he'd thought she simply preferred _Men_ in her bed, and so had sought to accommodate as many as possible. That she required payment did not seem beyond his understanding, either.

She felt strangely liberated by his lack of concern.

It seemed weeks since the Orc attacked her, not hours, and yet she felt safer than she had in a long time. She also felt closer to Aandar, as though she had a better understanding of him. His tale saddened her, not simply for the suffering Aandar experienced, but that which he caused. She was certain to never know Ghrulagûrz, yet she pitied him. It lessened some of the ugliness of what Aandar did to see his own remorse in the telling. He was not proud of his deeds, and seemed to lament them. She imagined he was relieved to be spared a confrontation with the _globatish_, yet perhaps longed to make amends all the same.

When Aandar returned, he focused on stoking the fire. He had no idea what possessed him to tell her what had been done to him. It was humiliating in the extreme to submit to a mouth fuck. _No_ one bragged of it. Those who wanted to do it to another Uruk were few. Raping another's mouth told him he was so beneath you, you feared _nothing_. Not his teeth, not his claws, _nothing_. Because he was worthless and weak. All knew this. Bearing the marks about the face of having your jaw held open to ensure you did not fight was a degradation beyond any other, including the more common rape of your ass. _Always_ the victim was held down by others, for an Uruk fought like mad to avoid such disgrace.

Because Aandar's ever-running mouth attracted Nûlkol's vile attention, Aandar had suffered more than anyone, he was fairly certain. Nûlkol had raped his mouth four times. He'd raped Aandar's ass seven times. Though the young Uruk had frequently avenged himself against other Uruk-hai who'd abused him, he'd never been able to manage it with Nûlkol. The slimy fuck was never alone.

And Nûlkol made it hurt. Aandar winced again, and shifted uncomfortably though the pain caused by the other Uruk was long subsided. Pain from wounds in battle, Aandar could withstand. The lash was agonizing but manageable. Being pounded mercilessly in his ass was _not_. Being gagged to vomiting by a cock down his throat, beating his head bloody against the wall with each thrust, was _not_.

Shuddering, Aandar rubbed his face roughly, trying to drive away the painful memories. How could he carry on raping when he suffered so much from it himself? What sort of disgusting thing _was_ he?

That was an easy question to answer. He was an Orc. There was no better explanation he could think of, and it was a bitter truth.

Aandar was startled by a gentle hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Thaktor looking at him. She looked... worried.

"It is late," she said softly. "We should sleep now."

Sighing, he nodded, and pivoted on his haunches, putting his back to the fire. He was about to attend to preparing the space on which they slept, and halted. Blinking, he met Thaktor's gaze. She smiled a little sheepishly and ducked her head.

"I have likely not done as well as you could," she said.

His face split in a broad grin. She'd smoothed their bed quite well; he was terribly pleased by her efforts. Lying down facing the fire, he marveled anew at Thaktor's apparent ease with him as she lay in the curve of his body without hesitation, and pressed into his chest comfortably. There was no fear scent now; neither was there the dead smell.

If he concentrated hard, though, he could _just_ pick out the good smell. He wanted to draw that in, wallow in it, absorb it, enjoy every nuance, but he was more exhausted by the day's stresses than he'd thought. His eyes closed, and he fell deeply asleep with his arm draped over Thaktor's waist.

His eyes seemed to open almost immediately, yet he knew he dreamed. He was in the pool again, the water up to his shoulders yet not quite covering them. His long hair, apparently ignorant of efforts to shorten it, spread out in the water about him.

And there was Thaktor. To his complete shock, she stood waist-deep in the pool, her arms at her sides. For the first time in this strange place, he was looking at her naked breasts. He didn't notice anything else for some time. Tearing his gaze away, he looked upon her face, anxious about what sort of expression she might have. He was surprised again, for she did not look afraid or worried, nor did she seem suspicious or hateful.

Thaktor's face was relaxed and curious. Her head was tilted slightly as she regarded him with unmistakable interest. And here, in this place of calm and quiet, he breathed in deeply and found that Thaktor fairly exuded the good smell. Even in his dream, he felt his cock harden in response. For a moment, he panicked and his breath quickened. He was certain she'd leave _now_.

For the first time, a voice spoke. Though Thaktor's lips did not move, he knew it was _her_.

_Soon_.


	10. Chapter 10

When Aandar rose the following morning, hunger gnawing his gut, he found that desperate as he was to hunt, he was loathe to leave his Thaktor unguarded even in this secluded cave. His eyes roamed her form, drinking in every lovely inch. Her arms, held so tight against her chest to keep his ruined tunic closed, had relaxed in sleep. Leaning over her, he could see the soft curve of one breast, the pinker blush of a nipple.

A hard swallow and a strong will kept him from exploring further. _She has not given permission_, he reminded himself. _Word __**and**__ scent are needed. Use your hand until both invite you._

Squeezing his eyes shut, he firmed his lips with grim restraint, clenching his fist where his hand hovered over the concealing half of the tunic. _No_, he admonished himself fiercely, _not __**that**__ way._ As if cowed by the reprimand, his hand retreated.

He drew a shuddering breath and forced himself to rise, stretch the stiffness from his limbs and back, roughly stroke the stiffness in his cock. _Not till we're out_, he told it. _Be patient._ Padding quietly to where he'd stowed the Orc's weapons, he took the short sword, bow and arrows. Stealing one last glance at Thaktor, which nearly made him change his mind, he tore himself away and crawled out through the tunnel.

By the time he returned, lust assuaged for the moment and a pair of thin rabbits skewered on one arrow for carrying, Thaktor was awake. He wanted nothing more than to hover near her now, for even so short a time away filled him with a sick feeling in his gut. Dropping the coneys and his weapons, he hurried to her side.

"Thaktor safe?" he asked desperately, eyes searching her face, nostrils quivering as he assessed her condition.

"Yes," she said, nodding. His expression was so worried she smiled a little. "I am well, Aandar. Thank you for allowing me to rest. And for bringing breakfast."

He nearly sagged with relief. As though he could not quite believe her words, he gently took her hand and pressed it to his cheek as he had done the night before. "Thak-... Eoforhild safe," he murmured, his eyes closing.

"You worried for me," she said softly, then started with sudden alarm. "Does this place... has it been used by Orcs? Do they know of it?"

"_Nar_," he replied quickly, shaking his head. He opened his eyes. "No Orc here." Then he chuckled and patted his chest. "_Now_ Orc here."

Eoforhild smiled more easily. "_This_ Orc is welcome," she said, and raised her hand to caress his other cheek. She found herself captured by the intensity of his eyes for a long moment before lowering her gaze. She took a deep breath, made nervous by her own boldness. Hearing him draw in a long breath of his own, she swallowed. "The rabbits," she said quickly. "I am certain you are... hungry."

"_Akh_," he replied, and retreated to attend to the skinning. His hands fumbled with the Orc's knife as he tried to do a better job this time. The good smell was back, though it put him in mind of a frightened animal, peeking out of its den. Not overwhelmingly strong, but detectable with no effort. Though he'd only recently seen to his annoyingly demanding cock, it responded immediately to her scent, and now he was uncomfortably hard again.

_Fuck you_, his thoughts growled. _I'm hungry. You can wait._

"Aandar," she said, and he started from his thoughts. "Can you... be careful with the skins? I have been thinking. They might be of use."

Shrugging, he nodded, and tried to take them off in one large piece each.

Once the meat had been distributed – one half spitted and roasting over the fire, the other swiftly consumed raw by Aandar – Eoforhild examined the bloody skins in as detached a way as she could manage.

"What use?" Aandar asked curiously, watching her lay the pelts out flat.

"Well," she replied thoughtfully, "we have need of clothing. Neither of us is... well-appointed." She glanced at the torn flank of his breeches, then at the split front of her tunic. "Though spring is coming, the nights and days are still cold. We should have... _something_ warm. Fur would accommodate us both, I think."

He nodded. "_Akh_. Orc wear fur." Glancing at her carefully, he noted her tension rising at the mention of the Orc who attacked her. "Orc dead," he reminded her. "Eoforhild safe."

Shaking herself, she nodded and waved her hand dismissively. "I know. Forgive me. I am afraid my mind... sometimes imagines what did _not_ happen. Perhaps to frighten me." She met his gaze and forced a smile that did not reach her eyes. "I have you to thank for it, that I do not have _more_ cruel memories to plague my dreaming."

At the mention of dreams, he tilted his head curiously. "What Eoforhild dream?"

Sighing, she watched the fire thoughtfully. "Silly things, mostly. Some frightening things. Memories, on occasion. Nothing important, really." Glancing at him, she asked, "What do _you_ dream about?"

A slow smile curved his mouth and softened his expression. "See Eofhorhild. All time, from Isengard. Don't see other dream. Only one."

"You... dream of _me_?" she asked, her voice faltering uncertainly. "What sort of... What am I doing, in your dreams?"

"Eoforhild come," he said wistfully, a dreamy look on his face. "All time, come. Come for Aandar."

Shocked, Eoforhild stared at him. Almost unconsciously, her hands clutched the tunic tighter. "You... dream of... _fucking_ me?" she gasped. His vague expression slowly clouded with confusion. He opened his mouth to protest, but she was already furious.

"I am such a _fool_," she hissed. "You can think of nothing else, waking _and_ sleeping! I was _right_ not to trust you! The gentle words and... and the things you suffered... all _lies_. Why simply rape my body when you can rape my _heart_? You would make me feel affection for you, seduce me with your cunning, and triumph when I stupidly embrace you! Even _lie_ with you by choice!" Her face crumpling with bitter betrayal, she turned from him.

It was as she should have known it would be. She had thought her suspicions unfounded, that they had spawned from a general fear of his people. It was a worry she might have dismissed, the longer she spent in his company. But now she knew it was not an idle fear. She knew he could not be trusted with _anything_, least of all her love.

How _could_ she trust him with it now?

Aandar had no idea where this came from or what he had said to set her off. He could guess, though. Something stupid had come out of his big, dumb mouth _yet again_.

He'd _tried_. Always, he had tried not to upset her. Raping and fucking were bad subjects, and he'd learned the hard way to avoid them. He'd kept his mouth shut about having her look over his injuries after the Orc stuck him because she seemed too upset to be interested. He'd read her body's cues, been mindful of her scent, had listened to her words. He'd even _not_ listened to her words if they disagreed with what the _rest_ of her was saying. The dream told him everything he needed to know about her, but it wasn't about fucking. It was _never_ about fucking.

"I am but one thing to you," she went on, her voice quaking with angry tears. "Of course, I should have known the dreams of an Orc would be full of filth and hate. More the fool was I, imagining anything else. It is little wonder you... you grow hard when we lie together, with lustful dreams for your entertainment. You let me believe you were _different_, that you _cared_ for me. All lies. Every word from your mouth, a _lie_."

"_Nar_!" he barked sharply, and she flinched. The scowl on his face made him appear quite ferocious. Eoforhild recoiled in fear. "Aandar _not_ lie! No rape! No _fuck_. Dream _not_ fuck. Dream _come_. Eoforhild _come_." She cringed from him, and he knew he wasn't being any more clear. Snorting with frustration, he cast about for some way to make her understand. He grabbed two rocks. Digging his clawed forefinger into the dirt of the cave floor, he drew a rough circle. He put one of the rocks off-center inside the circle.

"Look," he snapped. When she didn't turn, he angrily siezed her upper arm and pulled. She nearly tipped off-balance.

"Take your hand _off_ me!" she hissed, yanking herself free. But she'd turned, and that was all he wanted.

"_Look_," he repeated. "Aandar here." He pointed at the rock inside the circle. "Eoforhild _here_." He put the other rock on the edge of the circle, half in and half out. "Eoforhild _here_." He moved her rock in a few inches. "_Here_." The rock moved again, closer to the first. "Last dream... Eoforhild _here_." The rocks were now only a few inches apart. He looked up at her to see if she understood.

She was staring at the two rocks, biting her lip. If this dream had haunted him over the last few days of their... association, then she had experienced it first hand in the same space of time. She _was_ drawing nearer to him, she'd _felt_ herself softening to him, warming to him, wanting him, _needing_ him. And he had seen it himself in his dreams.

"Is this... why you have...," she asked hoarsely. Clearing her throat, she looked sharply at him. "You see in this dream of yours what progress has been made with every... So that you know what will fool me. All your talk of smiles and whatnot... a _lie!_"

"Don't make dream!" he snarled. "Only watch! Not tell lie. See." He grabbed her rock and slammed it back down in its starting position. "Aandar, Eoforhild sleep. Not take fuck, not rape." He moved the rock to the next spot. "Aandar alone. No Master. Eoforhild hold, touch Aandar." Again, he jerkily moved the rock closer to his. "Eoforhild see face, scream. Aandar come." He moved the rock once more. "Orc come. Aandar protect. Think...," he faltered, swallowing. "Think Eoforhild go _here_." He carefully picked up the rock and placed it completely outside the circle. "Think... Eoforhild only see bad. See Aandar same Orc, do same thing. Think Eoforhild _hate_ Aandar." Curling his lip angrily, he growled, "Aandar _hate_ Orc for hurt Eoforhild, for chase away. For... fuck up all thing Aandar do. Take Orc inside out. Make eat heart. _Hate_ Orc."

Fuming, he glared at her shocked and disgusted face. "Master make bad dream. Make Aandar see fire, blood, kill, rape. No master, no bad dream. Only _Eoforhild_ dream. See what do. Make Eoforhild..."

He ground to a halt. There were so many words missing that he needed now. He dug his fingers into his roughly-hewn hair and clutched his head in frustration. He wished he could squeeze the necessary words out, but they would not come. His voice was a low growl as he muttered, "Not _make_ Eoforhild. Not... _make_. Not... push. Not hurt. Want Eoforhild... not _hate_ Aandar. That all. Just... not hate."

Eoforhild stared at him. She felt terribly foolish for a different reason. "I... did not know..."

Looking up at her with pained eyes, he said, "Want Eoforhild. _Need_ and want. Hurt _here_," he said urgently, pressing a fist to his chest, "when Eoforhild hate. Hurt when think Eoforhild not safe. Hurt when think Eoforhild... hate Aandar." He winced and rubbed his chest. "Hurt when Aandar away from Eoforhild. Think bad thing happen, Aandar not protect." He gave her a pleading look. "What mate?"

Startled by the seemingly random question, she met his eyes in confusion. "Why do you ask?"

"Sad Orc always say, pain for miss mate." He patted his chest over his heart. "Aandar pain. Don't know mate. Aandar miss mate? Don't know." He shrugged hopelessly.

An uncomfortable lump formed in Eoforhild's throat, and she brought her hand up as though touching it would ease its passage. Drawing a deep breath, she said cautiously, "A... mate, Aandar, is... a companion, I believe. Though... I suppose I had never thought of Orcs as... having them. There are some creatures that... mate for life. They take a mate with whom they are... compatible, I suppose, and they... bear young together. They always stay together. They help one another... survive."

"_Sha__û__k_," Aandar breathed reverently, his eyes wide with sudden understanding. He'd never drawn the connection between the word and its counterpart in the whiteskin's tongue. "Orc say, _sha__û__k..._" Frowning with renewed frustration, he glanced around, trying to find some means of conveying what he'd been told in secret lest his master find out what he was learning when in the company of the _snaga_ Orcs.

So few of his fellow Uruk-hai gave a shit what the _snaga_ thought about anything. In truth, Aandar only went to them when he could no longer stand the ridicule from his fellows. The _snaga_ were more than happy to speak their own tongues with one of Aandar's kind who showed an interest and was a quick study of the various dialects. He was no fool, though. He knew he was little more than a trained pet to them, mimicking their words and phrases. They didn't think any better of him than his fellow Uruks, but at least they didn't try to fuck him in the ass or worse to show _how_ much they disliked him. Nor did they teach him the wrong words for things. He supposed they must have had too much pride in their language to do that. Their master did not allow the _snaga_ to speak their own tongues, insisting they use the tongue of Man. Aandar never understood why the wizard disdained the Orkish tongue, for he clearly knew how to speak it.

What one of the _snaga_ told him was that a _sha__û__k _was the Orc's other half. Suddenly inspired, he grabbed a stick from beside the fire and broke it in half. Holding up the two ends, he said triumphantly, "_Sha__û__k_." Then he fit them together at the break as if they had never been broken apart. "Orc say, _sha__û__k_ two make one. Always one. Make whelp, hunt, fight, live... _one_." He smiled, but it seemed forced. "Orc say, Uruk never get _sha__û__k_. Master... not give. Not make female." Ducking his head, he chuckled mirthlessly. "Make Uruk want whiteskin female, not Orc female. Want, can't have. Ugly Uruk. Whiteskin female _hate_ Uruk. So no _sha__û__k._ No whelp. No... no more Uruk-hai."

"I am sorry, Aandar," Eoforhild said quietly. "It... pains me that I fear even my own... That I want to see the worst in you. You have done so much for me. How you must have struggled these last few days... I have not made it easy on you."

He vigorously shook his head. "_Nar_. Eoforhild not trust. Aandar understand. _Bad_ Uruk, in Isengard. All bad."

"Perhaps... _within_ Isengard, Uruks are bad," she conceded. "But when you left, you became something better. And I have tried desperately to ignore that. I am sorry."

He shrugged and said nothing.

Sighing, she went on, "If I could take back all that I said a few minutes ago, I would. You did not deserve that. I... I look at you, and my eyes see Orc. But I do not see only with my eyes." She cupped his cheek in her hand once more, gently urging him to look at her. "I see _you_, Aandar. I do not... hate what I see. Or... what lies at my side in the night. Please forgive me for my harsh words."

"Aandar not do bad to Eoforhild," he said sternly. "See Eoforhild, think _sha__û__k._ All time, _sha__û__k_ Eoforhild. Aandar protect _sha__û__k _."

"If... if that is what... what you feel," she stammered awkwardly, "then... I... I shan't fuck you, Aandar."

For a moment, the terrible disappointment he felt was vivid upon his face, then he masked it with a strained smile. "Understand," he replied huskily.

"No," she said, shaking her head slowly. She stroked his cheekbone gently with her thumb. "I do not think you do."

"Tell," he whispered, closing his eyes. Her touch soothed and calmed him. If this was all she would give him, he would enjoy every moment.

"When I am ready, I will," she promised.

"When ready?" he asked.

"Soon."

* * *

After a good meal, and some reassurance that Eoforhild was safe in the cave, the Uruk seemed less anxious when he departed again to seek larger game. While he was gone, she began to explore their new home.

The main part of the cave was not large, yet there were many shadowy corners the diffused light could not reach. Taking a burning stick from the fire, she held it aloft in the manner of a torch, examining the furthest reaches of each short spur radiating out from the center. They were closer to being fissures, for though narrow they reached too far above into darkness for her feeble light to penetrate. She reasoned that this must be where the bats congregated.

One tunnel had seen recent disturbance, and she quickly backed out of it. Even in the torchlight, she could see that this was where Aandar had gone to attend to his need. Regardless of the levity she and the other ladies had shared over those 'poor men' who had naught but their hands for comfort, she could not muster any amusement for Aandar's plight.

She _knew_ him. He was not a customer or a stranger on the streets. Truth be told, did _anyone_ know him better than she, even in so short a time? Eoforhild felt almost no disquiet by this understanding.

Another tunnel brought her up short, a hand clutching her heart as she gasped for breath. It took her several moments to realize the bones were of a large animal, not a Man. Nor an Orc, for that matter.

They were old, long ago stripped of any flesh. For a moment, she lamented this, for an animal so large as this – nearly half the size of Aandar – would have provided a goodly amount of fur for clothing or bedding. But as she stared at the skeleton and her breathing calmed, she found herself kneeling down, looking at the bones. With her free hand, she stroked a few idly, her mind churning and sifting through memory.

_The tannery hard by the butcher's stall_, she recalled as though she walked once more in her village. _Oeric hard at work over hides, scraping and scraping. The scent of urine strong in the air, enough to make one gag..._

There were bones aplenty in good condition here. Two large ones could be used for scraping. Feeling the stirring of excitement for the first time in months, Eoforhild gathered as many as she could and carried them to the fire where she could see better.

The rabbit pelts were her first experiment, and she laid one out for scraping. She found, though, that the blade-like bones were far too large to attend to such small strips of hide, and switched to the Orc's knife. Though it filled her with revulsion to handle it, and her use of it was awkward in any case due to inexperience, she nonetheless did a passable job on the two skins.

The cloying stench of urine always greeted her when passing the tannery. She'd attributed it to unkempt men and their filthy habits, but might there be a _practical_ reason for it? Surely not. How could something so... repellent be used? Yet she knew almost nothing; perhaps Oeric _did_ use urine to treat his hides. Eying the animal's skull, she carefully turned it over, and noted that its shape could make it useful as a bowl of sorts, though it would not hold much.

Steeling herself, and listening hard for any sound of Aandar's return, Eoforhild availed herself of the skull, catching her stream as gracefully as she could under the circumstances. Checking again for his approach, she took one of the scraped pelts and dipped it into the urine. She used a stick to immerse it fully.

Chewing her lip, she stirred and poked at the pelt, brow furrowed in deep concentration. How long must it soak? What was she to do with it _after_? Wash it for an hour to get the stench out, she mused. And then what?

So engrossed in her experiment was she that Eoforhild did not take note of Aandar's return. He'd found a wild pig nosing about and used the Orc's bow. He could still hit a pig in the eye from fifty paces, and pride in his accomplishment made him leave the arrow where it struck so Thaktor would see how good he was.

He wasn't prepared for the piss-stink in the cave when he returned.

"What smell?" he growled, dragging the carcass through the entrance tunnel with him. His nose wrinkled and he grimaced with distaste.

Eoforhild started and turned. To his surprise, she smiled nervously and ducked her head. "You will laugh. I am trying to tan one of the rabbit hides. I thought... if we could prepare them, we could use them."

Tilting his head curiously, Aandar approached and looked into the bleached skull. The stench was strong and unpleasant. His much sharper sense of smell caused a good deal of discomfort in his nose from the acrid odor. The smell also stirred unpleasant memories of the piss-pit.

"Take out," he snapped, backing up and covering his nose. He gestured toward the cave entrance.

Sheepish yet somewhat defiant, for if this worked, it would be her own discovery, and one that would benefit them both, she picked up her skull-bowl and strode haughtily to the tunnel. "Consider this recompense for the intestines you have unconcernedly spilt in front of me at mealtimes."

Though having to then crawl on hands and knees from the cave, scooting the skull ahead of her, diminished her authority somewhat, she tried to manage it with dignity. She was unaware of how much of her backside Aandar was gifted with on her departure.

A slight smile curved his mouth and his hand strayed to his cock, rubbing it through his leather breeches.

_Soon_.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Revamped ending sequence. Ya'all weren't the _only_ ones not happy with how it played out. I hope it feels better now.

* * *

"Shit," Aandar said, nodding.

"You cannot be serious," Eoforhild replied, huffing with disappointment. "Was piss not foul enough?"

Shrugging, the Uruk said, "Go down pit some time. Orc make thing there. Take skin like this." He gestured to the urine-soaked rabbit pelt. "Big, but same." He reached out and tipped the skull a little. The skin had soaked up almost all of the urine and lay in a sodden mess. Now that he had a better idea _what_ she was getting at, his own experiences came to mind. "Do piss, _akh_. Make hair go. Make _soft_, use shit. Plenty shit in Isengard." He grimaced. "Uruk shit, Orc shit, warg shit, Man shit... Plenty shit."

Swallowing her disgust, she muttered, "I suppose we will need to save..." Wincing, she leaned back on her heels and stared at the skull, their only container of any kind and woefully inadequate.

Aandar chuckled. "Try good. Make better. Dig dirt, keep shit. Take water. Water, shit. Make soft skin." He gave her a wan smile. "Not cave, eh?"

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she snapped, "I am _sorry_. I suppose when the idea came to me..." She shook her head. "Not in the cave, then."

Aandar tilted his head and looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. "Eoforhild... not dumb. Think good."

"Of _course_ I am not dumb," she hissed, then pressed her lips firmly and took a breath. "I am sorry. It is... commonly said that a... that a whore needn't know anything more than... fucking. It would amaze you, the sorts of things the ladies knew."

Leaning back on his hands, he smiled with interest. "What know? Tell."

"Well," she began thoughtfully, "some, as I said, were quite good at baking bread. There was one who knew well how to use plants not only to prevent issue but to heal our aches and illnesses. A girl worked with her, using what was left to conjure such lovely-smelling soaps for us." She chuckled. "They were _so_ wonderful we declared her a 'titted wizard.' Another could embroider _such_ delicate flowers on the silk kerchiefs we carried." She sighed wistfully. "Useless for most things, but ever so pretty. Not easily sewn, either. She had a steady and patient hand."

"Friend?" Aandar ventured quietly. She'd mentioned the ladies she 'worked with' as being friends before. It was not a term he knew.

She sighed and nodded. "Yes, they were friends. All of them. So many were lost before... the rest of us reached Isengard. All are gone now, I suppose. I do miss them." Her expression grew sad as she looked away into the trees. Her brow furrowed in thought, remembering their easy manner with one another, how much they used to laugh. They used to take their rest in the daytime, she recalled, for the nights were for working. A slight smile twitched around her mouth, remembering how the madam would reprimand them for giggling over the secrets they shared when they should have been sleeping. In the night, they were mature women, but during the day among themselves they could be innocent young girls if they chose.

"Aandar friend," he offered, lightly brushing his fingers down her arm. She half turned her head in his direction, but didn't look at him fully.

"You are... _becoming_ a friend," she said carefully.

"Friend... good?"

"A friend is very good," she agreed. "A friend is someone who... trusts you. Whom _you_ can trust. One who will never harm you. Who helps you when you need it. Someone you _want_ to help in return."

"No... fuck?" he asked curiously.

She shook her head, struggling to keep from being angry with him for his one-track mind. "Not _everything_ is about fucking, Aandar," she chided. "A friend does not ask that of you, nor does he expect it."

Aandar furrowed his brow. "Friend in Isengard," he recalled. "Only one. Good friend."

Turning to him with interest, Eoforhild said, "Was there? Tell me of him."

A half smile tipped his mouth. "Name Morkoth. Good Uruk. Don't like thing Master tell do. Get whip all time. Like Aandar, get whip for mouth. Don't care. Help Aandar." He gently stroked Thaktor's back to show her what they did for one another. "Help cut. _Give_ help. Not ask fuck. Aandar help Morkoth. Not ask fuck." He frowned, realizing his friend was now dead like all the rest of his kind.

"Morkoth," he murmured. "Friend. Only friend, gone."

"Did he go to the battle?" she asked quietly, taking hold of his hand. He shook his head.

"Go Ford, like Aandar," he said. "Hurt, like Aandar. Come back, like Aandar. Water come..." He grimaced and looked away.

"I am sorry," she whispered, squeezing his hand.

"Eoforhild want friend?" he asked. "Aandar friend." His smile, though strained, was genuine. "No fuck. Just friend."

"I would like that," she said, putting on a brave face. "More than anything else you can give me. It is a _very_ good thing indeed."

"Aandar give friend," he grinned. "Say, friend know thing. What Eoforhild know?"

"Well, let me see," she said thoughtfully. "I did not go to the brothel with much, I confess. My parents were hard-working town folk. Father was a stable hand and mother a washerwoman. I know a fair amount about horses, I suppose. But who in my country doesn't?" She chuckled to herself. "I mostly just... helped. There were often young women who came into service with no experience. Their first time was typically shocking. I often found myself helping them through it."

Her mind flashed back to a young girl of perhaps fifteen, sobbing bitterly in Eoforhild's arms as the older woman rocked her, whispering soothing words. _They are not always so rough, dearest. Calm yourself and take heart. Tomorrow will be better. Dry your eyes. Show Madame your bruises and she will see you receive extra. It is all over now. Hush now, darling._

That same child, not a month later, was brutalized by Dunlending men and torn to pieces by Uruk-hai.

It was as though a dam had burst as she gazed upon Aandar, sitting so mildly and innocently beneath the trees beside her. She began to shake; a scream welled up from the pit of her stomach, aching for release. _What have I done_? her thoughts cried out, and she started. Eoforhild pushed it away. _He is in pain as well_, she reminded herself. _Like many you have known, he needs you._

She'd had strength and comfort to offer him when she thought she had nothing left. Was there none to spare for _her_?

_Do not be selfish_, her mother always told her. _Do not be like your brother who cares nothing for those in need._ Firming her mouth and breathing deeply, she reminded herself that it was _over_. The dark days were past. The place of torment was surely destroyed. She would never return there, so it was time to begin anew and _forget_.

For a time, her ability to believe such a lie was reinvigorated, and she was able to smile at Aandar's troubled face.

"Eoforhild fear?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

She shook her head. "No. I am fine. Just... remembering. It was nothing."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, thinking she was not being truthful, but he couldn't be certain.

"What of you, Aandar?" she asked in an attempt to steer the conversation from her own disquieting thoughts. "It seems you explored quite a bit. You saw where... your kind... emerged, and... the tannery." She chuckled nervously. "I suppose I envy your freedom. I never saw anything but the... one room."

Shrugging, he half smiled. "Not all free. Go down some time. _Snaga_ don't take fuck for all thing. Most _snaga_ in pits. Uruk train, most time. Not do work so much. Some Uruk work in pits, not all. Teach Aandar Orc tongue. Teach _good_. Tell what do. See thing, Orc tell thing. Aandar learn."

"It was a relief for you, then?" she suggested. "These... _snaga_ did not abuse you like your fellows did?"

"_Nar_," he replied. "Master say, don't kill Uruk. So _snaga_ don't kill. Most hate Uruk, not all. Some tell thing. Wrong thing. Thing Master not want Uruk know. _Secret_." He grinned mischievously. "Tell Aandar _shaûk_. Master don't want Uruk know _shaûk_. _Snaga_ tell _shaûk_, Master kill _snaga_. Secret. Don't tell."

Eoforhild frowned. "Why on earth would something so... natural be a secret?" she asked incredulously.

"_Snaga_ not take _shaûk_ to Isengard," he explained. "Master don't want. Say, female make Uruk soft. Don't want soft Uruk. Don't let _snaga_ bring _shaûk_, don't let Uruk make female in breed pit. Punish Uruk. No female, only male."

Her face went slack with disbelief. "The wizard... kept female Uruk-hai from being made?"

"_Akh_," Aandar nodded. "No female. Only male."

"How do you know this?" she whispered.

"_Snaga_ tell," he shrugged. "Say, make female, Uruk get whipped. Kill female whelp."

Another mournful pang struck her, and Eoforhild struggled not to show it. What if one of _hers_ had been female? For some reason, the idea of bearing one of their spawn seemed as though it would not have been _quite_ so awful if the issue had been female. Except that apparently the wizard would have destroyed her before Eoforhild could have known her.

She did not want to dwell on such a thing, and shifted her focus to his tale. Something he'd said made her frown.

"You say he did not want his Uruk-hai to become... 'soft,'" she said cautiously. "What do you think he meant by that?"

Arching his brow, Aandar mused, "Master don't care for Uruk _shaûk_. Want Uruk _fight_. Want Uruk kill whiteskin. Want Uruk rape whiteskin female. Want Uruk burn house, kill sheep, burn land. Kill and burn all thing. Do _other_ thing, Uruk soft. Uruk weak. Master don't want Uruk."

"You no longer do those things, do you?" she pointed out. "Would your master call you weak and soft?"

He smirked and nodded. "_Akh_. Weak Aandar. _Soft_ Aandar. Aandar not hurt Eoforhild. Want friend. Want _shaûk_. Hurt, Eoforhild not friend."

A ripple of discomfort ran through her, but she shoved it away. He was being sincere, she was certain of it.

"Your master is foolish," she said firmly, "to call you weak for the courage you have shown. To my mind, only a weak and pitiful person rapes another. You are not weak and pitiful, if you can defy what you once were and become something better."

His smile slowly broadened. "Eoforhild say good thing. Make Aandar... better." Though he clearly did not know the words, she felt strongly that he had just thanked her.

* * *

As night fell, they re-entered the cave and Aandar set to work stoking the fire. He'd dressed the boar before venturing outside to join Thaktor, and now wondered what they would do with the extra meat once they'd taken their meals that night. The one place he _hadn't_ explored was the kitchens, for there was a tight rein on rations and hungry, wandering Uruk-hai were strictly prohibited. If what he was given did not fully satisfy, he was obliged to beat additional rations out of another Uruk. Because he was bigger than most, he dished out a lot of hurt for every mouthful beyond his portion.

"What do?" he asked, turning to Thaktor. She was carefully running a sharp stick through some leg meat from the wild pig and looked up. "Make meat... not..." Frustrated into giving up with words, he pulled a face and pinched his nose.

His expression and gesture were so comical, Eoforhild had to laugh. "I do not know, Aandar," she replied with amusement. "I suppose it is something we should consider, though. You cannot be hunting every waking moment. I will think on it, if you like."

He nodded and grinned. "Eoforhild think good. Make meat stay. Like ration." Then he curled his lip. "Taste better, eh?"

"I shall try to make it taste better," she said with a reassuring smile. "I would also like to see what other things might be around that we could eat. While I am not too knowledgeable, there are some things I might recognize. Perhaps berries? It would be a change of pace from meat, at least."

Aandar narrowed his eyes and looked askance at her. "Like meat. What wrong meat?"

"Meat is fine, but it is... Well, after awhile, do you not think it would be boring?"

"Meat is meat," he said with a shrug. "Not boring. Just... meat."

"If I find some sweet fruit, like raspberries, you will see what I mean," she promised.

Quite suddenly, Aandar's ears pricked and his head swiveled sharply toward the rear of the cave. After a moment, even Eoforhild's ears could hear the distant screeching.

"What is...," she began, but stopped abruptly to shield her head and lie flat on the ground. Aandar followed suit, flinging himself face down on the cave floor.

From one of the rear tunnels there came what seemed hundreds of cacophanously shrieking bats, winging their way across the main room of the cave and swooping out through the exit tunnel.

Heart racing, Eoforhild gasped for breath as she cautiously sat back up. Aandar looked stricken, and quite frightened. His wide-eyed expression of shock so amused her that she burst out laughing in a slightly mad, hysterical manner. Aandar at first huffed over her laughter at his expense, but relaxed after a moment or two.

"I suppose even the _bats_ must hunt," she conceded, and Aandar laughed as well.

* * *

Lying together that night, Aandar's dream was strangely disturbing. It was the pool as he had known it for some days now, but something was different. There was a strange tension in the air, and Aandar's gaze flicked around the trees surrounding the pool. They seemed darker now, as though they concealed something threatening. Thaktor was not simply standing in one position, but actively retreating. Her face was crumpled as though about to leak water, and she was shaking her head. Her arms shielded her body.

Unlike every other time he'd seen her, she wore the evidence of what was done to her, only not as scars. The cuts were fresh and oozing. Bloody tears wept from the raw wounds on her face.

_Master has come back for her_. He did not know why he knew it was so, but there was a certainty in the dream that he hadn't had since it first came to him. The sounds of her fearful whimpering seemed so real and so close... He wanted to go to her, embrace her, shield her from his master, but his feet were rooted to the spot.

Though she was yards away, he could _feel_ her in his arms. It was terribly confusing, but he tightened his arms about his chest, and somehow felt he was holding her closer. Yet even as his arms enclosed what _felt_ like Thaktor, a sharp pain erupted in his shin and it seemed he was suddenly in possession of a wild cat.

The pool disappeared almost immediately, replaced by sheer darkness. There was almost no light in the cave; he only knew he was there by the scent of it. The fire had gone almost completely out.

Thaktor was awake as well, and he realized the struggle he'd felt in the dream was going on in reality. Before he could release his hold on the obviously terrified female, her elbow caught him hard in the ribs. He let go, and she scrambled away from him, panting like a frightened animal.

Sitting up, he stared hard into the gloom, trying to see where she went. The exit was off to his left, but she hadn't gone there. As his eyes adjusted, he made out her form straight across from him. Her gasping breaths and the reek of her fear scent alarmed him completely.

"Eoforhild?" he said cautiously.

"Stay away from me," she growled in a voice not like her own. "You are not supposed to be here. You are not allowed. The Jailor will find out. I will call for him if you do not _leave now_."

Blinking in confusion, he asked, "Jailor? What Jailor? Aandar here. No Jailor. Just Aandar."

"I do not care what your name is, filth," she spat. "What have you done with the others? Did you kill them? The Pitmaster will skin you alive if you touched them."

Jailor. Pitmaster. With a start, Aandar realized his dream hadn't lied, and she must believe herself back in Isengard. How _could_ she think that? Did she not remember the flooding and their escape?

"Eoforhild," he began, "not in Isengard no more..."

"_How do you know my name_?" she shrieked, and he started. "Do not say my name, you disgusting monster!"

"Not... not monster," he pleaded. "Not hurt Eoforhild. Aandar here. _Aandar_. Not hurt..."

"You are horrid," she hissed. "Get out of here. Jailor! There is an Uruk in my cell! He will flay you, mark my words. I hope I see it done. Jailor!"

_Light_, he told himself forcefully. If she could see that she was not there anymore, see _him_, all would be well again. Groping his way to the firepit, he urged the smoldering, charred remains of their fire back to life, feeding it well with kindling and broken branches. Soon a bright flame chased the darkness away. He scanned the cave and found Thaktor shielding her eyes from the light as she sat huddled in a far corner of the cave.

"Eoforhild?" he breathed nervously.

Slowly, she lowered her arm and looked at the cave walls and the shadows dancing across them from the firelight. There was little difference between the rough, eroded walls of the cave and the haphazardly dug out cells in which the breeding women were kept. The chief difference was light, for the Orcs and Goblins tending to the breeders needed very little of it to do their work. It was the darkness that gave truth to the nightmare Eoforhild had received unexpectedly. In her dream, she had woken from the comfortable scene of walking freely in the forest with... someone. She could not recollect now. Someone dark. Then it seemed that she'd woken in true darkness, and that stranger who'd seemed so companionable was there with her, and not nearly as peaceful.

She was in her cell. Only the two other women were supposed to be there with her. It was a _safe_ place, if any existed in Isengard. But somehow, _he_ was there as well, pinning her down, holding her, his lust evident, his intentions clear.

Searching the well-lit cave, her eyes found Aandar, and for a moment she cringed in fear. It was _him_. Did the Jailor not come? How could he have allowed this Uruk to get in the cell in the first place?

He made a move to approach her, worry and confusion writ large upon his brutish face, and Eoforhild pressed herself into the rock wall. He halted. Blinking, she recalled where she was, and who _he_ was.

"Eoforhild," he said quietly, clearly trying to sooth and calm her, "just dream. All done. Safe. Aandar protect. No fear."

"I... am sorry, Aandar," she whispered hoarsely. He moved to approach again, and she drew a sharp breath and cringed. He froze, twitching in every muscle, it seemed. "Please. Do not come near me."

"Eoforhild _dream_," he insisted, his brow pinched desperately.

"Yes," she nodded slowly, "it was a dream. I... I know. It was... like many I have had before. I just... forgot them. I forgot many things. I did not _want_ to remember."

"Tell," he urged. "Aandar... fear for Eoforhild. Want... make better."

She took a slow, shuddering breath. Her gaze wandered the walls of the cave, noting the play of shadows. "What have I done?" she whispered half to herself. "Eanfled. Brega. Edyd. Acha. So many. Hilda dreamed of one day selling her kerchiefs to highborn ladies. She wanted to pretty up their dresses. She imagined a day when she would fill her purse with coin from _that_ enterprise, not from whoring." Eoforhild slowly turned her head to fix a grieving look on the Uruk. "_She_ was the one, Aandar. It was Hilda who came to Isengard already pregnant. It was _she_ who was punished for being of no use to your master."

"Aandar not do," he reminded her, his voice sounding pathetic and weak even to himself. Her eyes flashed.

"Do you think it matters?" she hissed. "I have _befriended_ you. I have... I have let you get close. I have _touched _you, and allowed _you_ to touch _me_. _You_ who are an Orc, whose kin _destroyed_ my friends. No, you have done nothing to _me_, I know this. But you _have_ done the very things I have seen. You have done what was _done_ to me. To _them_. If their spirits linger, they would cry out to me in protest for my _betrayal_ of their memory."

Sagging against the wall, she rubbed her tired eyes.

"What Aandar do?" he growled. "All done. _Akh_, Aandar do bad thing. Hurt female. Rape. Kill. _Akh_, Aandar do. Can't... _not_ do now. Can't make not do, like never do. Aandar _learn_. Eoforhild teach. Not do no more."

She nodded. "I know. What is done cannot be undone. How I wish it _could_ be." Looking at him sadly, she sighed, "You have learned well, Aandar. I would be a fool to ignore it. But you have also... you have not... What you want of me is not something I can give. Not now. Perhaps... not ever. I remember too much."

"Remember... rape?" he ventured cautiously.

"Yes," she said, flinching and looking away. "It is not a thing that simply disappears when it is over, Aandar." Glancing at his curious and worried face, she smiled humorlessly. "I will tell you something you likely have never known. The women you raped, if they lived after, likely prayed for death. They remembered what you did to them. They wept every single night. They _saw_ you in their dreams. They _felt_ your hands upon them long after you had gone. Any man who lingered too long in their company, they cringed in fear of him. They stopped going about alone, even in the daylight. They saw you in the shadows though you were not there. They could not sleep, for fear you would return. And they feared, always, that every man who looked upon them would _know_ they had been spoiled by an Uruk, and would despise them. So they were ever alone. Unwanted by all."

She looked away from his stricken face. "I listened to them in the cells. Some found solace in madness. Others begged to be slain. There were a few who fought viciously only because they hoped to be killed for being... difficult. I could not. The Pitmaster did not need to whip me very many times before I was tamed." Her chin quivered with remorse. "There was one I saw... taken down the hall to the room. So young. So... terrified. They had to carry her back. The look on her face... I almost thought her dead. There was so much blood down her legs..." Meeting his eyes, she whispered, "If she saw me with you, if she knew I... _cared_ for you, she would spit on me, Aandar. She would _hate_ me, and be justified."

Sighing, she said, "I know what you want of me. You have made no secret of it. Perhaps that is why you have been so gentle." She shook her head and raised a hand to halt his protest. "It does not matter. I... do... have some... affection for you. It would be a lie if I told you this was not so."

"Not just fuck," Aandar interrupted firmly, shaking his head. "Aandar remember _shaûk_. Orc say, _shaûk_ most good. No other thing better. Not... _fuck_ _shaûk_." Huffing with exasperation, he growled, "_Akh_, _shaûk_ fuck. Make whelp. Not _all_. _Shaûk_ fight... _here_." He held up his fists side by side. Then he clasped his hands together, intertwining his fingers and gripping tightly. "_Shaûk_. Always. Not part. Stay _here_."

Eoforhild stared wistfully at his hands. "Perhaps... one day, Aandar."

"Friend?" he whispered. He straightened his fingers, yet kept his palms pressed together. "Eoforhild friend?"

"If I am your friend," she warned, "you must accept that I do not want to have sex with you, Aandar. You must stop asking. You _must_ stop... thinking about me when you... tend to things. I may _never_ go to your bed, Aandar. You must accept that this is the way of it. _Then_ I will believe you when you call me friend, and feel safe calling _you_ friend."

He frowned and clenched his jaw. It was not what he wanted, but... perhaps it was what he _needed_. Finally, he nodded. "_Akh_. Not... think of Eoforhild. Not ask."

"Thank you, Aandar," she said with relief. "I think... I should like to sleep apart from you for a time." He nodded again. "I do not hate you, Aandar," she said pointedly. "I am not punishing you. I need this... space. Please understand..."

"_Akh_," he said quickly. "Understand." Already his mind was filling with one female face after another, all cringing at shadows, all weeping, all remembering _his_ hands upon them, and despairing that he had not slain them and so ended their misery.

At least he was not in those female's homes or villages to haunt their steps, but he was in Eoforhild's. He couldn't help but feel that his face was as good as any other Uruk's in tormenting her with painful memories.


	12. Chapter 12

The bats' return woke Eoforhild from a light sleep where she'd huddled during the night, and she groggily sat up. Aandar was already poking the fire back to life, or at least was about the pretense of it. The flames still licked merrily at the fuel he'd given them before; his efforts had no effect. Noting his frown, Eoforhild went to kneel beside him.

"I know you are angry with me, Aandar," she said quietly, and he shook his head.

"_Nar_," he replied. "Eoforhild say thing, Aandar think. Remember what do. Make Aandar feel bad." He lightly pressed the center of his chest. "Bad hurt. Know now, what do to female. What Uruk do to Eoforhild. Understand."

"I have been thinking as well," she said. "I have been so long among those who could no longer speak without screaming, or listen to the pain of another... There has been no opportunity to rid myself of these... horrors." She bowed her head and turned away. "I wanted something... normal. I thought... I could leave that place behind, as though it had never been. I could start anew." Releasing a shuddering breath, she whispered, "I even believed... you... could be a part of it. I do not know if you can. I am sorry I let _you_ believe..."

"_Nar_," he said firmly, and she looked over her shoulder at him. Poking his chest, he growled, "Not 'normal.' _Uruk_. All do, _Uruk_ do. Not... normal Man do." His brow furrowed more deeply. "Don't know word. Know _feel_. Want part. Eoforhild... _skai_," he cursed, growling with frustration.

"What is it, Aandar?" she asked. "I am certain I do not fully understand what you feel. I will listen, if you will tell me."

He swallowed, and his mouth twitched, then he shook his head. "_Nar_. Eoforhild need tell, not Aandar. Tell, Eoforhild listen, Aandar better. Now Eoforhild tell, _Aandar_ listen. Make Eoforhild better." He nodded to her. "Tell. Get... rid... horror. Aandar listen."

A wan smile came to her, and she took his hand. He held hers firmly and nodded encouragingly once more. "I do not want to hurt you, Aandar," she said quietly. "I truly do not. I want you to understand that."

"Understand," he replied.

Taking a deep breath, she said, "The first night in Isengard, I gathered the two women already in the cell. It was easier, you see. They wept as I did, for they had heard... Hilda. They knew what was done to her. If I gave them comfort, lent them what strength I still possessed, I could... set aside my own grief. It was not many hours later that the Jailor came to fetch one of them. She did not return. I did not realize until much later that the woman had conceived her fourth, and it was the end of the line for her.

"My time came soon enough," she continued in a detached, nearly emotionless voice. Aandar edged closer, and gripped her hand tightly. "The Jailor came for me. I did not know... did not _want_ to know, what fate awaited me. I fought him all the way down the hall. Even now, I recall his words. 'Easy, lass. Fightin' don't make it better.' He was right." Sqeezing her eyes shut for a moment, gathering her strength, she pressed on.

"The Pitmaster applied the whip to take the fight out of me," she said, and half smiled when Aandar growled deep in his chest. "Yet I still struggled. He had a chore putting me on that table, I assure you. By then, I knew what was coming. An Uruk stood by waiting. He..."

Eoforhild stopped, her throat closing at the memory. "He was grinning, and... stroking himself. Watching every move. I knew _then_ what was coming." She paused again, her lips trembling. Tears welled in her eyes. "He tried to rape my mou-... my mouth first, but the Pitmaster stopped him. He said... he said master did not want them wa-... wasting their seed that way. He made me pay for his disappointment."

Her hand went shakily to her cheek. "He made me look at him while... while he did it. He made it hurt, and he... he... barely rested between. There was blood. I _bled_, he did it so hard. There is not _supposed_ to be blood but the one time, and only a little then. Over and over again, he raped me and raped me and _raped_ me..."

Aandar caught her in his arms as she toppled over in sobbing despair. Holding her close, he felt like weeping himself. He thought she'd pull away from him, and prepared himself to quickly release her, but she encircled his waist with her arms and gripped him tightly. He could feel her nails digging into his hide.

That this was done to his Thaktor and caused this much pain, infuriated him. That _he_ had done the same to others shamed him. He wanted to find this Uruk and rip him to shreds for hurting her, but the Uruk was dead already, leaving her unavenged, and he helpless to do anything for her.

It was some time later that her sorrow dissipated and she was able to draw back. She clumsily rubbed the tears from her marred cheeks. "Thank you, Aandar," she breathed.

Frowning, he growled, "Not do. _Want_ do. Want _kill_ Uruk for rape Eoforhild. Want... want tear arm off, beat Uruk. Want..." He gasped his angry frustration for several breaths. "Can't do _nothing_."

The grimly amusing vision of Aandar furiously beating that Uruk with his own severed arm brought a slight smile to her face. "You _have_ done something, Aandar. You are here, and you have listened. I have wept, and you have held me. You are angry for what was done to me. I cannot tell you how much better I feel, after all these things you have done."

One side of his mouth tipped up in an uncertain grin. "What _friend_ do?"

"Yes, that is what a friend does," she nodded.

"Not much," he replied skeptically.

"No, I expect it does not seem like much," she agreed. "But it is more than enough."

Brow pinched, he reached up and lightly touched one of the scars on her cheek. "Like Nûlkol," he murmured. "Always mark here." His face contorted with impotent fury. "Want Nûlkol _live_. Aandar need kill." He raised his other hand and clenched his fist. "Aandar hand, kill. Not water, not tree. _Aandar_."

Eoforhild drew a shuddering breath. "You cannot know it was him," she said hollowly.

He leveled a fierce glare at her, though his anger still pointed elsewhere. "Nûlkol laugh, not like other Uruk. High laugh. Hear?" Grimacing, his face showing no humor at all, he imitated a high-pitched, cruel laugh. The sound alone would have set anyone's teeth on edge.

It made Eoforhild cringe and shake uncontrollably. "_Yes_!" she cried, squeezing her eyes shut. "It was him. Please do not do that again, Aandar." He swiftly embraced her and pulled her close.

"Not laugh like Nûlkol again," he reassured her softly. "Aandar stop."

Pressing her cheek to his shoulder, she wept and shook. She felt as helpless as a small child as she climbed into Aandar's lap and curled around him, cowering from the mere _memory_ of that vile Uruk and his insane laughter.

With such strong arms about her, she felt calm. Safe. Protected. It seemed ironic that the monsters might be held at bay by one of their own, but that was how it felt.

After a few deep breaths and the steadying of her heart, Eoforhild continued.

"He laughed when I cried out in pain," she said quietly. "It seemed to... strengthen him. He saw to it I screamed a great deal. Most of the scars I bear are from _him_. He did not simply grip me hard enough to drive his claws into my flesh; he _dragged_ them down my body. The Pitmaster had to make him stop lest the damage he was doing... should kill me." She chuckled humorlessly. "I foolishly thought it was my welfare that concerned him, when it was his master's investment of time and effort that made him so... protective."

"Pitmaster _snaga_ shit," Aandar grumbled. "Don't care for nothin' but Pitmaster. Suck master cock. See Orc fire, don't piss on Orc put out. _Fuck_ Pitmaster. Good dead Pitmaster."

"I have to agree with you there, Aandar," she said with bitter amusement.

"Eoforhild better?" he asked hopefully, looking down at her face.

"A good deal better, thank you," she nodded. "It was a hopeless place, Aandar. Perhaps it did not seem so terrible to you, for it was all you knew. But for us... We had laughed and loved, breathed the fresh air, warmed ourselves beneath the sun. We knew freedom. Most of us had been respected in one form or another. At least we had not been... abused before. To come into a place of torment such as Isengard, where freedom was an _ending_, not a beginning; where relief from suffering was at the whim of those who made us suffer and they were loathe to give it away... We wanted to die, Aandar. _All _of us. Were escape even a _possibility,_ we would never truly leave it behind."

There were no words Aandar could think to say, so he simply rested his cheek upon her head and held on. She seemed to be calmer in his lap, in his arms, pressed so close. As he sat there, it occurred to him that he was limp. He hadn't even noticed. Sighing with relief, he gave her a brief squeeze. _Good_, he told his cock, _you are as guilty as I am. Keep your silence._

"I fainted," Eoforhild murmured. "When he had... raped me so many times that first day that I could not have counted if I'd wanted to. Perhaps he continued. I do not know. It is more likely he stopped, for I could not... entertain him with my screaming any longer. I awoke in the cell. I wept so much _more_... Not because I was raped, but because I _woke up_. I did not want to, not after..."

Sighing, she said, "The woman in my cell did not come near me. She said nothing, and did not even look at me. We should have... comforted one another, for we were suffering the same thing. We should have shared strength. Helped one another survive another day. I was _angry _with her, who had been there longer and should have guided me, as I guided the young girls new to the brothel. A kind word, a gentle embrace, a reassuring if insincere platitude... Could she offer _nothing_? Such were the foolish thoughts I had then. By morning, I understood why she could not. There was nothing left. Not for _any_ of us. I was taken from the cell again, strapped to the table again, and... Nûlkol came... again."

"Gone now," Aandar rumbled quietly. "No fear."

She nodded and wiped her eyes. "I suppose... it was fortunate that it was quick, relatively speaking. They checked us each week, to see if... if we had conceived. By the second week, I was pregnant, and his duty was done. I could breathe. I never saw him again."

"Pits," he growled. "Rape Aandar, rape Ghrulagûrz, rape and rape. _That_ where Nûlkol go, do."

"I am sorry that happened to you, Aandar," she said earnestly, looking up at his face.

He shrugged. "Aandar pay for rape. No sorry, Eoforhild. Aandar pay."

Though she secretly agreed with his assessment, Eoforhild did not want to hurt him by saying so.

"I think I have said enough for one day," she sighed, leaving his lap with a firm hand on the ripped tunic. "You have helped me. I feel... a bit stronger now."

"Good," he said, standing and stretching his back. He headed toward the cave's exit.

Recalling his words before, Eoforhild took his hand, and he stopped, looking at her curiously.

"What is it you feel, Aandar? That you did not want to tell me before? Can you now?"

Frowning, he faced her, yet could not look her in the eyes. "Think... Eoforhild want Aandar. Like, _want_. For... for fuck. Say want, _think_ want." He sighed. "Eoforhild _not_ want Aandar. Think wrong. Don't know... what _right_ think."

Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You did not misunderstand me, Aandar. I... I _do_... want you. At this moment, I want you to be my friend. I will want that tomorrow, and the next day, and the next... I will _always_ want that."

"Feel good, _any_ want," he nodded. "No Uruk want Aandar. All time, Aandar not worth shit. Dumb fuck Aandar, no want."

"We are quite alike in that respect," she said, briefly touching his cheek. "I fear I will no longer be wanted by my own people. It is good to be wanted by Aandar."

"Not... fear female?" he asked cautiously. "Dead female, hate Eoforhild for want Aandar. No fear?"

"If they do not condemn me for living, for _surviving_," she replied sadly, "how can they despise me for finding peace? I do not want to imagine hatred I cannot see or fight. You are being a friend to me, _when_ _I need it_. Where were they when I needed a friend in Isengard? They were all about me, Aandar. They shared my cell, and yet none ever offered me _anything_, though I exhausted myself seeing to _them. _I know they had nothing to give. _You_ have it, and you have given it to me freely. No, I do not fear the opinions of the dead. Not anymore."

* * *

After they'd eaten more of the pig's meat for breakfast, Aandar girded his bow and sword and accompanied Eoforhild into the forest in search of berries. Almost nothing had begun blooming yet; the Uruk had little confidence that the fruit Thaktor spoke so highly of could be found.

He watched her move, examining each bush, touching leaves here and there to note their shapes, and he felt his cock stir. Now he was _truly_ annoyed. Did it require so little to grab its attention? When he was certain she wasn't looking, he half turned away and socked himself a good one.

_Oh no_, he thought as a dull pain rose up from his privates into his gut. This was not quite so brilliant an idea as he thought it would be.

He staggered and bent double, then nearly bit through his lower lip to stifle the roar of agony; a strained whimper escaped him instead. Though his legs were fine, he found he could not take another step without limping and grabbing trees along the way to steady himself.

Glancing back, Eoforhild was startled to see him in such obvious discomfort. "Aandar? Are you well?"

"Good," he gasped through clenched teeth. "Aandar good." He waved his hand, urging her to continue.

"You are _not_ good," she said sternly, cocking her hip and crossing her arms over her chest. "Did you step on something that caused you such pain?"

"No pain," he groaned. "Aandar fine."

"Liar," she chided. "Let me see. Perhaps I can help you."

Eyes widening in alarm, he took a clumsy step backwards. "_Nar_. Aandar fine. No pain. See?" He forced a smile and straightened his back, trying to still the trembling of his body. Eoforhild was not convinced, and continued to stare him down until he relented. Sighing, he told her, "Cock hard. See Eoforhild, cock hard. Aandar... hit. Make _not_ hard."

Her brow rose a fraction. "You... _hit_ yourself?"

"_Akh_," he replied sheepishly. "Not hard now." He tried to grin, but it came out a grimace.

"Oh, Aandar," she chuckled, shaking her head. "I understand. I have made you think that such a thing is a threat to me. Yes, it has been. But now... how can I explain this?" Frowning and worrying her lip thoughtfully, she ventured, "I do not feel threatened by you any longer, Aandar. Not even when you harden. I know how you feel about me. How your body reacts is often outside your control. Truly, my own... sometimes... reacts to _you_. You have smelled it, I know. It is beyond _both_ our control."

"Don't want make fear," he said urgently. "Not hurt Eoforhild."

"I know," she nodded.

"Want friend," he insisted, then bowed his head. "Want _sha__û__k _also_,_" he muttered.

"You are my friend, Aandar," she said. "I know you want more, but I cannot promise it."

"_Nar_," he said, shaking his head. "Aandar take what Eoforhild give. Friend only, Aandar take. _Give_ friend to Eoforhild. Only friend, Eoforhild want. So... Aandar only give friend." He smiled reassuringly.

"How can one such as you," she whispered, "have ever come from that place?"

Startled, he said, "Eoforhild know. See Aandar come from Isengard."

Chuckling, she said, "No, I mean... you have changed so much in a short time. That you can stand here and tell me you are content with friendship when only a few days past you were so demanding. I am amazed, Aandar. I would not have ever imagined, after what I endured, that one of the wizard's creatures could be... something other than a monster."

Aandar tapped his temple with a clawed finger. "Master Voice gone. Aandar free. Can think many thing now." A slight smile curved his lips. "Think where safe for Thak-... Eoforhild. Think where get meat. Think where get water." He gestured off to their right where he'd found a stream while he hunted the day before. He chuckled. "Think what do for bat, get rid. Bat shit in tunnel. Smell bad."

Eoforhild found herself smiling at him. "This surprises you? That you can think of these things?"

"_Akh_," he nodded. "Voice make head..." He huffed with frustration. "Soft. Like fur. No think, some time. See one thing: kill enemy for master. Enemy _there_, Aandar go _there_. Fight and kill. No other think. Not in fight, can think some. No good. Leader don't care for ask. Aandar don't ask." His grin broadened as he looked at Thaktor. "Now, can think. Think how live. How make Eoforhild better. How... not do bad thing, make Eoforhild hate. No fur head. Aandar ask, Eoforhild _tell_. Feel good."

"There are many sorts of prisons," she nodded. "Mine was a cage, yours was in your mind. I am glad he no longer holds us. We are truly free, aren't we, Aandar?"

"Free," he nodded, then shrugged. "Summat free. Eoforhild think bad thing. Tell, and better. Aandar same. Tell, and better. Make all bad think go, Eoforhild and Aandar free."

"Yes," she agreed. "Perhaps when all the bad memories we _both_ have are dealt with, we shall _both_ be free."

"Aandar listen," he smiled.

"So shall I." Smiling a little, she said, "There is... a trick we learned for... relaxing an erect cock that is not so... hurtful. You... flick the base, like so." She curled her middle finger under her thumb and released it sharply. "I do not understand why it works, but... it is quick, and very effective."

"Try next time," he said ruefully.

* * *

The season was not right for berries, but Eoforhild was grateful for the armload of walnuts she found at the base of a tree. She wondered if the blackened skin could be eaten as well. She dimly recalled seeing squirrels chewing it to get the nut inside, but didn't know what they did with the husk afterwards.

Shrugging, she reasoned that there would need to be experimentation or they would not survive. The best she could do was give it a try in small quantities and see. The nut, she knew, would at least give them something different to eat.

Once in their cave, she and Aandar spent an hour shelling the walnuts. He used the knife to peel the softening husk from the shells, and she used a rock to split them open. Curious, he reached for a kernel she'd just set aside in a pile, only to have his hand swatted away.

"Wait until we are done," she admonished half-seriously. He grunted impatiently, but dutifully went back to cutting through the leathery husks.

"Not eat nut," he said. "Good?"

"_I_ think so," she replied, bringing a rock down sharply on the hard shell. She was gratified by the cracking sound as the shell split. The first few she'd struck were crushed; she quickly learned to temper the blows. "When I was very young, father and I used to gather nuts from the marron trees that grew... oh, at least a league or more from our village. It was quite the journey. Mother roasted them, and they were _so_ sweet. Harvest time was not complete without them."

"What father? Mother?" the Uruk asked.

Without looking at him, Eoforhild concentrated on carefully removing the meat from the shell of the walnut. "My mother is the one who bore me. My father is... her _sha__û__k,_ I suppose. They made me together."

Aandar frowned. "Father fuck mother, make whelp? Whelp Eoforhild?"

Bristling, she slammed the rock down on the next walnut too hard and shattered it. Taking a shaky breath, she looked him hard in the eyes, making him flinch. "No, Aandar. That is _not_... I am sorry. You do not understand. I promised to teach you, and I shall." Calming herself after some effort, she patiently said, "There are things we do which may _seem_ no different, one from another, but for the way we feel when we _do_ them. When my mother and father... made me, they loved one another. They _cared_ for one another. They lived together and worked together _always_. They _loved_. When I... earned coin, I did not care for those men, nor they for me. I did not know them before I lay with them, and knew little more of them when they left my bed. I did not _want_ to know more. I certainly did not love them. _That_ was fucking. What my mother and father did was make love."

"Understand," Aandar nodded. "_Sha__û__k_... make love. Not fuck. Make love good?"

Tears came unexpectedly to her eyes and she shook her head. "I do not know, Aandar. I have never... loved. Or _been_ loved. Not like that. I can only say... it is... it is _more_ than fucking. So it must be better."

"Say, love mean... care for other. Say, live and work for other. Do... other thing for other?"

"Yes," she nodded. "My mother... so loved my father that... when he came to be injured, and could no longer work, she took on extra duties. She made him as comfortable as she could. She never once blamed him for her hardships. And he so loved _her_ that... he thanked her for even the smallest things she did. He was bitter about his ill luck, he lamented his condition, but he never showed it to her."

Laughing humorlessly to herself, she shook her head. "I did not see that, when I was young. I saw what was easiest to see. She aged before her time, and he was near useless. Her... commitment to him confused me. In my foolish youth, I thought she would be better served by leaving him. How disappointed she must have been, to have shared a promise of a life spent in bliss, only to have him brought so low he could not fulfill his half of the bargain."

Sagging, she bowed her head. "That is why I chose the life I did, I think," she said. "I wanted the pleasures of the marriage bed without the trappings of it. Or the trap, as I thought it was then. I simply replaced one trap with another."

"Mother... leave father?" Aandar asked.

"No," Eoforhild replied. "She loved him, you see. It took me years to realize that _she_ was not trapped by her marriage. She _chose_ to be with him. Whether he was injured or not, a whole man or only half, it did not matter, because she loved _him_."

A smile of understanding came to Aandar's face. "_Sha__û__k_," he said, nodding with certainty.

"I believe you are right, Aandar," she said, returning his smile. "They are _sha__û__k_."


	13. Chapter 13

Aandar did not understand why his efforts over the past month to rid himself of memories of what Nûlkol did to _him_ seemed a waste now. He began to see what Thaktor meant about setting aside one's pain to help another, for though her tale brought the hideous recollections back to the forefront, comforting her kept the brunt of it at bay for some while. Now that evening was coming fast and things were quiet as she tried to stretch out the rabbit pelt on the cave floor – thankfully washed well, though he could still smell piss in the fur – he found Nûlkol and his accomplices getting the drop on him whenever his mind wandered even for a moment.

Looking even remotely like he knew what he was about or was even slightly confident about his place was all it took to make Aandar a target for Nûlkol. It seemed to be all the foul Uruk required _after_ death as well, for Aandar felt needed and wanted, his awkward attempts to make Thaktor feel better were accepted and seemed successful, they were getting closer and he was feeling good about _himself_ for once... and Nûlkol came as he always did to fuck it all up.

He tried moving to a different part of the cave, vainly hoping the disruption in his quiet stillness would distract the memories and make them go away, but they followed. He shifted location twice before Thaktor stopped what she was doing and looked at him with concern.

"Aandar?" she asked. "Are you all right?"

Twitching, he nodded his head. "Good. No worry."

His expression gave Eoforhild no confidence that he was 'good.' Wiping her hands on the tunic, she rose and went to where he was sitting, which happened to be the same corner where she passed the night. Kneeling before him, she took his hand. "Your thoughts trouble you. Are you remembering something?"

He debated revealing the details of what was done to him, even to _her_. There could be no worse disgrace than what he'd been put through. Would she think less of him because of it? Hanging his head, he shook his head.

"You are lying to me," she admonished gently, stroking the back of his hand with her thumb. "You should not hold it inside you, if it causes such pain. I am here, Aandar, and I am your friend. Nothing you say will change that. I _will_ listen. Talk to me."

Very slowly, Aandar raised his other hand and pointed to the scars down one cheek. His lip quivered slightly, and he could not look in her eyes. "Nûlkol mark," he whispered hoarsely. "Rape... Aandar mouth. Many time."

Eoforhild touched his cheek. In truth, his was a deeply-lined, brutal face. If he hadn't pointed them out before, she would not have been able to distinguish them as anything other than battle scars, for he had plenty of those. "He gave you these," she acknowledged, tracing the scars first on one cheek, then on the other. Now that she was close and looking, she marveled that she hadn't truly seen them before. Or recognized them when she first saw _him_.

_I only saw my own the other day_, she reminded herself. _I could **not** have known._

"I assumed they were taken in battle," she said encouragingly, hoping he would believe her. She felt compelled to convince him that it wasn't so bad, it didn't look like he got them the _way_ he got them, surely no one would ever know if he didn't _tell_ them.

Aandar ducked his face away from her hand and turned aside, a grimace contorting his features. "_Nar_. Shame. All Uruk see Aandar shame. Don't want see other Uruk. Look, see... _know._"

His lips trembled as though tears were just below the surface. Eoforhild took his other hand and held them both. "I am listening, Aandar."

Speaking in hushed tones, his voice shaking at times, Aandar said, "Rape mouth... tell Uruk, not worth shit. Say, Uruk _nothing_. No fear; can't _make_ fear. Say, can't fight, _let_ Uruk rape mouth. No fight, no... no Uruk. Not... worth _call_ Uruk." His face crumpled and he freed a hand to rub his eyes roughly. "Aandar not _let_ Nûlkol do _nothing_," he growled, glaring at her as though she'd accused him otherwise.

"I _know_ you did not," she said firmly.

Snorting and jerking his chin in a brief nod, he furrowed his brow and went on. "Nûlkol not alone. Never alone. Two Uruk... keep Aandar down." He winced and bowed his head, remembering how terrified he was the first time, knowing what was going to happen and what it _meant_. He remembered how hard he fought then and every time after. "Sit leg, hold arm. Uruk here," he said, gesturing to his strong thigh. Not strong enough, in the end. Pointing to the other, he hissed, "Other Uruk _here_. Hold to wall. Can't... can't _move_."

Through gestures, he conveyed to Eoforhild that he was pinned with his legs apart to allow Nûlkol to stand between them. The foul Uruk's confederates kept him still, hindering his ability to fight with sheer weight and position.

"Nûlkol... hold hair," he continued, grabbing a handful to show her how tightly the Uruk held him. "Hold face." His other hand went to his chin, and Eoforhild winced as he pressed the pads of his fingers so tightly into his jaw through each cheek that his mouth could not help but be held open. The scars on his face told her Nûlkol was not so gentle. Even demonstrating how Nûlkol restrained him put fear into Aandar's glistening eyes. Releasing himself, he bowed his head again, unable to face her. His voice was terribly quiet, a low rumble in his chest. "Nûlkol... rape... hard. Hit head on wall. Aandar...," he said, shuddering to a halt. He didn't know the word, and feebly motioned as of something coming out of his mouth.

"You vomited," Eoforhild whispered, and he nodded.

"Not stop," he whimpered, beginning to shake. "_Laugh_. Try... try fight... can't. Try bite... _can't_. Head hurt. Think like... like fur head. Other Uruk... laugh. Uruk see... come and see Nûlkol rape Aandar. Laugh. Say, 'Aandar keep big dumb mouth open all time, get summat put in mouth.' Say... say... 'Aandar... get what ask for.'" He winced and drew a shuddering breath. "Nûlkol come in mouth. Vomit again. Aandar... wet. Make wet face. More laugh."

"Aandar," she breathed, stroking his face. "I am so sorry."

"Nûlkol not done," he said shakily. "Other Uruk... take turn. Nûlkol sit on leg, hold arm. Say thing. Say, 'Aandar... _like_.' Say... 'Aandar _want_.' Nûlkol... get cock out. Can't do _nothin'._ Make cock... make hard. Aandar not _want_ hard cock! Can't do nothin'. Nûlkol... hand fuck Aandar. Make Aandar cuh-... come. Not want come. Can't _not_ come. Nûlkol laugh, say, 'Good Aandar. Good _glo-... globatish_.'"

The confession was too much for him, and Aandar retreated. He pulled his hand free of Eoforhild's shocked, slackened grip and hugged his legs to his chest. He turned his side to her, not wanting her to see the tears that were coming out of his eyes, making his face wet, and pressed his forehead to his knees.

Now she would hate him. He wasn't nearly as strong as he'd told her he was, if Mannish tears came so easily as this. He was no better than any _globatish_ he'd seen, taking a brutal raping and weeping about it after.

If even _once_ he'd seen some sign that Nûlkol gained something from what he did to Aandar and Ghrulagûrz and countless others, he might have understood the other Uruk's reasons. But there was never any evidence that Nûlkol sought a higher rank or an improvement in his position. He took no advantage of those he brought low by trying to take _their_ place in the pecking order. It made no sense to Aandar.

"Did this... did he do this to you... only once?" she whispered, horrified that it happened at all.

Aandar slowly shook his head. "Rape mouth four... four time that way. Remember all time. Try fight... try... can't."

"You say he... he called you... that word," she said hesitantly. "Did others..."

"_Nar_," he said quickly. "Only Nûlkol. Aandar... _globatish_... only for Nûlkol."

Beyond speech, Eoforhild hesitantly edged closer to Aandar and touched his bare shoulder. She could hear him sniffling a little, the sound muffled and somehow more pitiable because of it. When he didn't respond, she slowly slid her hand across his back to the opposite shoulder. Whether he was of a mind to accept her embrace, she wanted to give it, as she had done for the women in her cell, for the women who were chosen, and for the girls who endured. That he was male and an Orc made no difference; the same foul creature had put his marks on them both.

He didn't stiffen or protest when she urged him to lean against her. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly and rested her cheek on his head. He laid his head on her shoulder. More tears came, and he covered his face to hide them. Eoforhild urged him to turn and embrace her fully, and after some awkward repositioning, he turned toward her with his chin on her shoulder and his chest pressed to hers. His arms held her tightly and his hands clutched the back of the tunic, digging his claws into the cloth so not to hurt her.

It was several minutes later, while she was rocking him gently and stroking his back, that she realized the tunic had opened fully in their maneuverings. They were pressed flesh to flesh, and it felt good to her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. _What am I doing?_ she worried, but stilled such thoughts. If she called attention to it, what might he do?

* * *

It was the exodus of the bats that returned their awareness to the cave and each other. Eoforhild withdrew from him and pulled the tunic tightly closed. Judging by the slight frown on his damp face, it was clear Aandar only became aware of their bare skin touching when the contact was broken. To her relief, he said nothing about it.

"We should sleep," she suggested awkwardly. "Please... make up the fire. I do not want to waken in the darkness again."

"_Akh_," he nodded, and lurched to his feet. Their store of wood was nearly gone, so Aandar crawled from the cave to fetch more.

In his absence, Eoforhild drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. The disturbing thoughts of a few days earlier seemed to be returning. The warm pleasure she felt when their bodies touched was frightening to acknowledge in view of the day's revelations. She admonished herself, attributing her feelings to those years spent on her back, so accustomed to all interactions with men couched in pleasures of the flesh that she could not be satisfied with anything else.

But it was not that sort of feeling. There was relief in it, an acknowledgment of shared pain and experience. A sense of oneness and understanding. A desire for physical closeness that went beyond a simple holding of hands, yet not so far as to share a bed.

What might it be like, she wondered, to lie with a man in naked embrace... and not couple with him? Simply to _feel_ his body in all its wondrous contours, pressed to hers, sharing breaths and caresses, but nothing else? Could such a thing even _happen_?

She shook her head sadly, certain that such closeness without the demand for sex did _not_ exist among Men, and especially not among Uruk-hai.

Once Aandar had the fire burning hot and bright, he went to the place he slept in the night before and absently checked for any wandering rocks that might have snuck into the area over the course of the day. His mind was elsewhere.

Could he ask for closeness now? He didn't know. It was needed, though not expected. She must think him weak and pathetic now, not worthy to be called Uruk. Perhaps it was for the best. His horrid cock might stiffen with wishful thinking and bring another nightmare to her.

He felt full of a blackness that could not be purged as he smoothed the dirt over and over again in one small spot, though it no longer required such careful attention. He didn't look at Thaktor as he curled up on the ground with his back to the fire and to her.

Eoforhild watched him for several minutes before lying down a few yards away. She was not blind; what he'd revealed was a deep shame to him. Nûlkol's words kept coming back to her – telling Aandar he liked what was being done to him. She hadn't wanted to remember the sorts of things he'd said to her, but just as her pain reminded Aandar of his, _his_ recalled _hers._

_Look at me. **Look** at me!_

_Beg me to stop. Weep for me._

_Does this please you? It feels like it does._

_Your cunt wants this. So demanding._

_Scream for me, lovely one. Scream **more**._

Shuddering with revulsion, she bit her lip. He was not far away. Perhaps if she lay with her back reassuringly against his...

What might he think if she did? What might he _do_?

Deciding it was worth the risk, for her need was great, Eoforhild rose to hands and knees and gingerly crawled to his sleeping form. When she was only a few feet distant, he jerked awake so violently she almost failed to dodge the strike as he instinctively swiped backwards with his claws at the perceived threat.

"Aandar!" she cried with alarm, her heart hammering in her chest.

He came fully awake and rolled to a sitting position. Gasping for breath, he stared at her, still a little disoriented.

"I apologize," she said as calmly as she could. "I only wanted... to be close."

Shaking his head sharply to rattle his brains back into line, he frowned. "No sneak, Thaktor. Uruk sneak on Aandar, get kill. That way in barracks. All time, sleep little, watch much."

"Is this... how _all_ of you lived?" she asked hopelessly. "Always distrusting, forever under threat from your own fellows? Could you not... How in the world were you able to function as soldiers together beyond the walls of that place? Surely you could not trust one who had abused you so, not even when facing a common enemy."

Sighing, he shook his head. "Not all barracks like Aandar barracks. Many, _akh_. Leader say, this is way. Want position, rape for position. Other barracks, leader say fight. Know Uruk in other barracks die for challenge leader. Leader want _fight_ in barracks, not rape. So no rape. Other barracks, other leader... different. All different." Furrowing his brow thoughtfully, he mused, "See troops from no rape barracks. Different. Smile more. Laugh. Not... _hate_ laugh. Not _shame_ laugh. Just... laugh. Say funny thing, laugh. Not hurt other Uruk, laugh."

Scowling, he growled, "_Pizbûr_ for Aandar, decide barracks way. Ûsord fuck. Run three barracks, all rape for position."

"Did he... do this as well?" Eoforhild asked, wincing in anticipation.

"_Akh_," Aandar nodded. "Go sleep in barracks, this barracks one night, that barracks next night. Do rape, watch rape. Make Uruk hand fuck Ûsord while watch rape. Make...," he said, grimacing with disgust, "make Aandar hand fuck Ûsord, some time. Ûsord come to barracks, more rape. Go other barracks, less rape. Uruk want _please_ _Pizbûr_, do rape more."

"What of... other barracks, then?" she asked carefully. He seemed to be getting very upset.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he thought about her question. "Know other Uruk, other barracks. Morkoth in other barracks. Much fight there. _His_ _Pizbûr_ not rape for position. Fight only. _Pizbûr_ train Aandar. _Pizdur_ once, then _Pizbûr_. Not know why change." Shrugging, he continued, "See only Master way. Do what Master say do, don't care _how_ do. Don't like Aandar. See Aandar get rape, laugh. Say, maybe shut mouth next time." A shadow passed over his face, and he turned away from her again.

"Aandar," she said gently, taking his hand. He gave her a curious glance. "I want you to understand something very important. What Nûlkol did to you, what other Uruks did to you... _was not your fault_. You did not ask for it. I think it was terribly cruel of Nûlkol to... to manipulate you while his fellows raped you. All that served to accomplish was to make you feel even worse and question yourself. There is no need to doubt yourself. It means _nothing_." Reaching up to cup his cheek in her cool palm, Eoforhild said firmly, "Trust me. I know of these things."

Eyes full of remorse, he shook his head. "Eoforhild say good thing, make feel better, but lie. Aandar get what... _skai_," he snarled. "Do for do. Do rape, get rape. Make fear, get fear. Hurt, get hurt. Aandar pay."

"You mustn't think like...," she protested automatically, but he shushed her with a finger on her lips.

"_Nar_," he replied. Taking a shuddering breath, he said, "Can't make Nûlkol pay for rape Aandar. Make _other_ Uruk pay. Nûlkol done, Aandar rape other Uruk, make hurt. Think, Nûlkol get _this_ and _this_," he growled, striking his palm with a fist. Then he sagged and hung his head. "Feel good, think Nûlkol pay. Not real think. Not feel good when done. Feel... bad."

Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment. "You should not have done that, I agree. I am... I am glad even _then_, you did not feel good about what you'd done."

"Feel less good now," he muttered.

"As you should," she nodded sternly. "You should never make another suffer for what was done to you." Furrowing her brow, she looked away for a moment. "I am sorry, Aandar," she murmured. "Have I done such a thing to _you_?" She looked at him worriedly.

Finally meeting her gaze, a half smile quirked his mouth. "_Nar_," he said quietly. "Say good thing, give good feel. Tell... _true_ thing, give Aandar... understand. Remember all thing Aandar do. Remember give hurt. Do bad thing to other Uruk. Get bad thing _from_ Uruk."

Smirking, he growled, "Other Uruk rape Aandar, not... not so bad. Nûlkol _bad_. _Make_ bad hurt, all time. Other Uruk..." He shrugged. "Not so bad."

"I know what you mean," she said hollowly. Drawing a shuddering breath, she hugged herself. "After his... whelp was taken from me, I was tended for a short while in a different place. The wizard was often there, laying on hands, healing us from his servants' repair work. Then I returned to my cell. I hoped, still, that this was all he wanted. Just the one... and I would be freed. Or the torment would end... somehow. Then the Jailor came for me again, and I fought harder than ever."

Meeting Aandar's narrowed eyes, seeing his wince, she felt braver. _I can face this_, she realized, _for he is with me now._

"I thought it would be the same Uruk again," she explained shakily. "I truly feared I was meant for... for _his_ use, until my usefulness was spent. But it was another. He was... very excited to be given such a duty." She grimaced and looked away. "I did not know he would be any different from his predecessor, and so I battled fiercely against the Pitmaster. I suppose I did not grasp the futility of it yet. Regardless, he won, and I was on the table once more.

"It was... entirely different," she mused thoughtfully. "He did not go out of his way to cause me pain. He simply... performed his duty. He even spat upon his member before he began. So his entry would not hurt... quite so much." She smiled grimly. "I know it was not a courtesy for my benefit, but I appreciated it nonetheless."

Tilting his head slightly, Aandar asked awkwardly, "Not... hurt? Rape, not hurt?"

She nodded. "Yes, it was still rape, it was still painful, and I still despised him for it. I promise you, I was not amused when I lay before him and suffered his attempts to get me with one of his... whelps. But I suppose... it was months ago that he came to me last. I can't help but see small... _very_ small bits of humor in the ordeal." Smiling with embarrassment, she shrugged. "I suppose if we can no longer laugh, we come closer to madness."

"Rape not funny," Aandar said crossly, eyes narrowed.

"No, indeed it is not," she agreed. "I assure you, I never laughed even once in Isengard. But if I _could_ have, it would have been at this Uruk." Letting out a brief chuckle, she shook her head. "He took the _longest_ time to manage it. _Weeks_ of toil. He took on the look of a Man trudging to his hated workplace every day. All his early enthusiasm was drained after the first two weeks, then... well, it became a monotonous chore."

A barking laugh snuck out of Aandar, and he quickly stifled any more that might have followed. Eoforhild smiled wanly.

"I do not deny it was... uncomfortable, to be raped five times a day for weeks on end, in spite of his efforts to ease the friction," she continued. "But after Nûlkol... _this_ one's methods were... tolerable, I suppose. In truth, he was _so_ disinterested, it took longer and longer for him to finish. I suppose he was becoming numb." She chuckled. "_I_ certainly was. There were times I dozed off, waking only when one of the other Uruks let out a roar when _they_ finished."

Shaking her head with grim amusement, she added, "He even tried conversing with the Uruk at work at the next table over, he was so bored. His... 'intrusion' on the other's activities was not welcome, and I am afraid he got his ears pinned back whenever he tried."

Aandar grunted with amusement. "Talk to Eoforhild?"

She shook her head. "No, he never spoke to me. I suspect he did not want to hear what I might say." Sighing, she said, "I am glad he did not seek to become friendly with me. I could not have borne it."

Brow furrowing, he blinked at her as though something had just occurred to him. "Aandar... go to breed pit... to rape Eoforhild." A look of clear distress creased his brow further and his lower lip trembled slightly. "Not... _know_."

"I understand," she said tightly. "It was... it was your duty."

His breath quickened. "_Nar_, _don't_ understand. Aandar go to _rape_ Eoforhild. Not care for talk, for close, for... _sha__û__k._ Just... just fuck. Aandar only think, _fuck_. That all." A horrified expression came over his face, and his eyes glistened. "Aandar rape Eoforhild... get _hate_. No talk, no close, no nothing. Just _hate_. Not ever know Eoforhild." Tears slid down his dark cheeks. "Not know Eoforhild, Eoforhild hate Aandar... Aandar want _die_."

Moved by how deeply he was affected, she brushed the tears from his face. "It did not happen that way, Aandar," she said softly. "Chance brought you to me when it wished, at a time and in a way that made... _this_ possible. You are right, I would have despised you if you had raped me. There would have been nothing between us but my hate. Do not dwell on what might have been, for it did not happen. You and I are here now. We would both feel better, I think, if we only worried ourselves over the events in our pasts that _did_ occur, not those that did not."

He slowly nodded and dragged the back of his hand across his eyes. "Aandar... wet. Shame."

"Tears are not shameful," she told him. "Shed them, and you will feel better. Hold them in, and they lie as a weight in your stomach. The more reason you have to weep and do not, the heavier that weight becomes. It is best lessened when you can manage it."

He took a few steadying breaths, then asked, "Eoforhild... lie close? Please?"

Nodding, she smiled, "That is why I came over here, yes. After all we have shared today, I need it. So do you, I think."

"_Akh_," he said, returning her smile. "Close good. Don't fear cock," he added hastily. "Aandar try." He mimicked her earlier flicking motion.

Laughing a little, she said, "I do not think I am afraid of it now. Not _yours_, at any rate. I know you will not use it against me."

"_Nar_," he agreed. "Not use." Then his brow rose with surprise. "Not _need_ so much now."

"I am glad of that," she said with relief.

When she curled up with her back to his chest and his arm lightly embracing her waist, Aandar felt his own relief. While he was not foolish enough to think that all was back to normal, for he could not define what 'normal' was, at least they were becoming close again. He'd learned some harsh lessons over the last day, ones he hoped never to forget.

The most important lesson was the meaning of _shaûk,_ a concept he'd not quite understood until Thaktor spoke of her parents. That was _another_ foreign notion, _parents_, and he hoped she'd tell him more of it. But _shaûk,_ he now knew, was what he needed. Being _shaûk_ with Thaktor... just _imagining_ it...

It would be like _this_, he was certain of it. He drifted off to sleep, his cheek nestled against Thaktor's soft hair, a smile of contentment on his face.

He was not surprised to find himself once more in the pool. What _did_ surprise him was that Thaktor, after her earlier retreat, was once more in the water with him, not only waist deep but within reach. Her face was scarred, and though the wounds were still fresh, they had begun to scab over. He realized, however, that he bore cuts that oozed, in particular on his face.

To his amazement, Thaktor stretched a hand across the water to him, and he watched his dream form gently take it. Nothing else happened, and the scene drifted away, leaving Aandar in a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Translations:**

Pizbûr = military rank of sergeant  
Pizdur = military rank of captain


	14. Chapter 14

So late in the night did they succumb to the call of slumber, both Aandar and Eoforhild were too weary to rise gently with the dawn. It was the wild screeching of the returning bats that woke them with a start. Grumpy from fatigue, Aandar scowled murderously down the tunnel into which the bats flew.

"Bats," he snarled, as though the word were a curse.

Eoforhild sighed and lay back down. "There is nothing we can do," she murmured. Curling up, she attempted to catch a little more sleep.

Grunting his disbelief, Aandar set to examining the cave entrance. The rear tunnel was beginning to smell from the droppings; Aandar reasoned that they must not have been using the cave for their nesting for very long if that stench was only now beginning to settle in. It was past time he urged them to find other accommodations.

Perhaps he hadn't been allowed to wander innocently into the kitchens, but he knew where the food stores in Isengard were, and sometimes the _snaga _who guarded them could be found out and about in their off-duty hours. What they grumbled about the most was the never-ending battle against rats and mice fouling the grains or nibbling at the dry rations. Failure in their job was typically paid out with the lash, so they were vigilant. What had they said kept vermin from getting into the food stores? Beleaguered but diligent _snaga_ plugging up the holes.

The way into the cave was a low passage that extended several yards. It sloped downwards into the main section, and there was a gentle turning almost halfway along. The roof was low enough that, on his hands and knees in the tallest part, Aandar's back scraped the rock if he wasn't careful. Yet that part was too narrow for him and Thaktor to crawl side-by-side through it. Otherwise, the opening was wide and shaped somewhat like a mouth.

A slow grin spread across his face. It was not so wide he couldn't block it somehow.

Glancing at Thaktor, he wondered if he should disturb her rest to talk about this. He'd never been involved in discussions about strategy or planning; he was a simple footsoldier, given orders and expected to follow them without question. At least against Men, the methods were fairly standard, but against bats?

No, he would get along well enough on his own. He wasn't stupid; he could think it through. Taking a deep breath, Aandar positioned himself in front of the tunnel entrance and sat down.

He could build some kind of barrier. With what? Branches and leaves. Yes, he could fashion a frame and weave undergrowth and vines through it. Between his and Thaktor's eyes, they would ensure no chinks or holes could be found.

When should this be done? Ah, _after_ they'd flown out for their hunting. That would ensure all of them were out of the cave. Then he frowned. _Fire._

He built a fire each night. The smoke needed to go out through the tunnel. Thaktor needed the light so she wouldn't dream of Isengard. His brow creased with worry and he gnawed his lip, trying to solve this new dilemma.

Finally, he shook his head. Worry about it later. With the tunnel blocked, there should be no fire. He felt fairly confident that this was a rule.

Once the barrier was raised, how would he keep it secure? The bats flew at an incredible speed, returning to their nesting. If they struck the barrier, it would have to hold. Stones? Yes, he could stack stones against it. Chuckling to himself, he mused that he could also stack _Aandar_ against it. Let them try to move _him._ A prideful gleam in his eye, he puffed up a little at the thought of those hundreds against his one, immovable as a mountain.

_Now I should ask Thaktor for help_, he thought. It felt good to do things with her. They could talk; she knew so many things, he would never think of enough questions to ask. A smile released the tension in his face as he realized they had all the time in the world for her to answer each one.

"Thaktor, _shaûk-izub_," he murmured, closing his eyes. He liked the sound of that.

"Yes, Aandar?" Eoforhild replied sleepily, and he slowly turned to look over his shoulder at her. She had drifted back to sleep while he contemplated the bat problem, but was now sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

Had she heard him? He felt a surge of joy that she was not angry with him for saying Thaktor instead of Eoforhild. Might she come to accept the name? Perhaps sometimes, she would allow him to say it. He certainly hoped so. It was a name to be purred quietly in her ear in the silence of the night. It rolled in his mouth and rumbled in his throat so pleasantly. It conjured her face in his thoughts so vividly he hardly needed to open his eyes to remember what she looked like.

"Aandar? Is something wrong?" Eoforhild asked. Somehow she'd moved to kneel beside him, her hand clutching the tunic closed, without him noticing, so deeply was he lost in his thoughts. Shaking himself, he smiled.

"Not wrong," he said softly. Gesturing at the cave opening, he went on, "Aandar think. Bats go, close hole. Bats not come back. Work?" He arched his eyebrows, checking her opinion on his plan.

Eoforhild's brow furrowed and she eyed the exit critically. "It is... rather wide, don't you think?" she asked skeptically. Seeing him beginning to deflate, she quickly asked, "What did you have in mind?"

With some embarrassment, he shrugged. "Think... make door. Take stick... many stick. Um... branch." His shoulders sagged, his poor vocabulary hindering him again.

"Why don't you show me?" she asked kindly, laying a hand on his arm.

Encouraged, Aandar led the way out of the cave. With gestures and halting words, he conveyed to Eoforhild the sort of sticks he was looking for, and she set about collecting them.

It was strangely calming, the nearly domestic task of gathering branches from the feet of gnarled old trees. Eoforhild sometimes looked up at a stray noise, only to find her gaze land on Aandar, his brow furrowed with concentration as he compared one stick against another. He made some critical assessment and discarded the ones that didn't pass whatever muster he was looking for, then he moved on. His armload grew faster than hers, even still.

His singular focus, his intense desire to see his vision realized, had the rallying effect of urging Eoforhild to be just as mindful. She brought her efforts to him for evaluation in the clearing where he was beginning to lay out the first branches in a framework of sorts.

"Are these good?" she asked uncertainly. Aandar looked up and tested the branches she handed him. He checked them for soundness and flexibility. Some he accepted, others he discarded in a pile. He glanced at her, then the pile of rejected sticks, and said, "For fire. Still good."

"Shall I fetch more?"

"_Akh_," he nodded. "More like this," he added, showing her a younger branch with some bend to it. "Many more." Then he stood and joined her in the continued search.

She was beginning to understand what he was trying to build, once he shifted their gathering efforts to pine branches. The other trees had only begun to bud, the tiny nubs of new leaves barely visible on the spindly dark limbs. Aandar looked at these and frowned.

"What this?" he asked Eoforhild, pointing at the buds.

A soft smile smoothed her brow. "This is a sign of coming spring, Aandar," she said, gently caressing the branch and running her fingers over the hard green bits. "These will open as leaves. In a few weeks, the trees will begin to blossom." Looking at his uncomprehending face, she asked, "Have you not seen...? Oh. No, I suppose you haven't."

"Spring... good?" he said as though unsure what to say.

"Yes, it is," she assured him. "It means that the world is coming alive again. What was dead... lives again." Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. "I suppose it is the same for...," she murmured, then blinked at him. "Apologies. My thoughts were elsewhere. There are what we call seasons. If it is spring now, then winter is over. You surely remember winter; there was snow."

He tilted his head to the side. "What snow?"

"Well, it is cold and wet," she told him. "It falls from the sky and makes the land white..."

Sudden comprehension dawned on the Uruk's face, and he grinned. "Make ball."

"Excuse me?" Eoforhild said, startled.

A mischievous gleam shone in Aandar's eyes and his grin broadened. Cupping his hands, he said, "Make white ball. Some time, go raid, white fall. Snow? Snow fall. Make ball. Hit Uruk head. So mad." He snickered. "Chase Aandar. Ground wet, Uruk fall. Aandar hit again." His mirth increased, and soon he was snorting with laughter.

It was the most absurd view she'd ever had of the Uruk-hai, imagining their ferocious, single-minded cruelty set aside for something as childishly innocent as a snowball fight. She couldn't help laughing with him.

After a few minutes, his amusement diminished, replaced by uncertainty. "White gone. Not come back?"

Smiling fondly at him, she said, "Yes, it will come back. We will see the snow again. But you had better not throw a snowball at me, Aandar." She eyed him suspiciously and leveled a warning finger in his face. "I won't be pleased with you."

"Not hit Eoforhild," he assured her, his face the picture of innocence that fooled no one. "Promise." Then he grinned, fairly guaranteeing that he meant no such thing.

"I suppose we will see about that," she conceded. "I have many months to plan my revenge should you break your promise."

* * *

Once their materials were assembled, Aandar took the best measure he could manage under the circumstances, estimating the dimensions of the cave opening, and arranged the toughest branches on the ground to match the basic shape and size. He'd scored the tough bark of saplings with his sharp claws and peeled off long thin strips. These he and Thaktor used to bind the framework together.

It was roughly rectangular, with criss-crossing pieces from one end to the other. Eoforhild watched him work; again, his brow creased intently. His hands were deft in tying the stiff bark strips into knots and pulling them tight. All that Eoforhild could do to help in this enterprise was hold the pieces together until he had them secure.

Then the weaving began. In this, she could do more good. It wasn't much different from making baskets, another skill one of the ladies possessed and shared with the rest. They enjoyed such busywork as much for the distraction from painful recollections of rough customers as for the opportunity it afforded for them to sit together and talk.

The activity seemed to have a similar effect on Aandar, for once they settled into the task of intertwining the branches through the framework, he began to speak.

"Tell parent," he said, glancing up. "Still live?"

Eoforhild halted and met his gaze. "I... I don't know. Why do you ask?"

"Not same village?" he pressed. "Not... die when Uruk come?"

Sighing, she went back to weaving. "I do not know, Aandar. When I was young, I... left. Oh, it was not so kind as that. I ran away."

The Uruk furrowed his brow. "Run... from parent?" His eyes narrowed. "Parent hurt Eoforhild?"

"No," she hastened to say. "No, they never did me harm. I did not run away for that reason."

"Why run?" he asked, clearly confused.

"I was young," she said quietly. "Young and quite foolish. I believed I was right in all things, and my mother... Well, I have told you what I thought of her... predicament. Which was no predicament at all, I came to realize. But by then it was far too late."

He'd paused in his work, listening intently, but she could not bring herself to look at him. "It was an argument about my future, ironically enough. She wanted me to marry well enough that I might not know the hardships of poverty that she did. There were young men aplenty then, for the war had not called so many to arms yet. Of course, I could not marry princes or lords, not the daughter of a stable hand and washerwoman. For me there were only farmers, herdsmen, perhaps apprentices in the local trades if I was lucky. My mother wished me to be less... standoffish, I suppose. Not quite so haughty and cold when they came to call."

Bowing her head in shame, Eoforhild lamented, "I told her I did not want to commit myself to a man who would let me down. I did not want to find myself trapped as she was." Wincing, she paused for a moment to steady herself. "I recall her face," she continued quietly. "She was so hurt by my words... I do not want to remember all that I said that day."

Aandar didn't want to say it, but he worried now. Had he disappointed her? He'd promised to keep her safe, only to be absent when an Orc attacked her. He boasted of his strength, and confessed his inadequacies, the times when his strength was insufficient, when he was unable to defend himself, much less anyone else. How would she look at him now, knowing these things?

"Aandar?" she said worriedly. Looking up, he shook himself.

"Listen," he assured her. "Eoforhild run then?"

"Yes," she continued, eying him. Something had come over Aandar for a moment, an expression she was beginning to associate with connections he made that were often unpleasant. She would have to ask him later what troubled him. "I did not have many possessions, but what I wished to keep, I tied in a cloth bundle and took with me during the night. It was not so dangerous to travel in those days... or perhaps I was terribly lucky. I knew of another village a day's distance from ours, and the basic direction in which it lay. I left my parents and my friends behind and... never returned."

"Not... Man way," he ventured cautiously. "What Eoforhild do. Not... normal?"

"No, it was not," she sighed. "Far more common than you would think, but it is not _generally_ the way. Children often remain with their parents until they are married, or in the case of sons, old enough to learn a trade. My brother left as soon as he was old enough to begin training to be a Rider one day. I learned quickly that I had made a grave mistake, but pride kept me from admitting it for a very long time."

"Mistake?"

"Yes." Eoforhild rubbed her face, hoping to stave off the tears that threatened. How could _this_ remembrance be more painful than those of Isengard? "I disdained my mother's teachings, and so could manage almost nothing on my own. I tried for weeks, cleaning floors in the tavern, washing clothing in the community laundry, even mucking stalls at the stables. I was pathetically inept at all these things. I found I had learned nothing from my mother's example, or simply lacked her ease. She could do... anything, really. She had such a knowledge of plants; why she never pursued the healing arts..." Shrugging, she added, "Of course, things may have changed. The war likely made healers of them all."

"Why clean, wash?" Aandar asked. He was quite fascinated by her tale. The ways of Men were a mystery to him, one that could only be solved through her words. He hung on each one. "Why do?"

"Men manage all things with coins," she explained. "If I wanted to eat, if I wanted a warm place to sleep, I had to earn coins. When I first arrived, I had little choice in jobs, a young inexperienced girl such as myself. Fewer each day as I proved myself incapable of even the simplest..." Covering her mouth with a shaking hand, Eoforhild closed her eyes and tried to compose herself. To her surprise, Aandar reached over and took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. She met his gaze and found she could continue.

"Winter came, and with it a great fear," she breathed. "I had no work, no food, no place to stay. I was starving, and... it had been proven to me time and again that I... I had nothing... I _was_ nothing... What could I do? What choice did I have? I had sold everything that was dear to me, save one thing." She furiously rubbed her eyes, angry with who she was then, the position she put herself in for the sake of pride. "I went to the brothel on the edge of town, sick and thin, my clothing in rags. I had decided that... if I failed again, if my body could not save me, I would... end things. I just could not face my mother. I believed she would gloat, tell me she was right and I was a fool for not listening to her. And so I sold... myself... for pride."

Grimacing with the memory, she recalled, "Men will pay handsomely for an unspoiled woman. The madam invested a goodly amount in preparing me for the first one lucky enough to claim my maidenhead. I was warm and well-fed for the first time in months. The ladies schooled me in matters of pleasure while I strove to put flesh on my bones. They spoke of coupling in such frank and comfortable terms, I was not so frightened. This was not what my mother told me. Perhaps she noted that it could be pleasing, but she told me I should not... appear to enjoy it too much, for it was unseemly." Glancing at the Uruk's bewildered expression, she chuckled mirthlessly. "Among Men, a woman who enjoys sex is a whore. One that demurely flutters and smiles shyly is a wife. Mostly, my mother told me there was pain and discomfort. While the ladies said the same, they also told me, quite truthfully, that these things were fleeting. Once that is past, there can be such bliss in coupling..."

She closed her eyes, unexpected recollections of the more gentle moments coming back to her. Some men had such a soft touch... She'd quite forgotten this, as she often did in the wake of a less considerate customer.

Aandar wasn't blind; he noted her wistful expression and shifted uncomfortably. Could he put such a look on her face? No, he couldn't. Even if she invited him, he knew he would never be capable of pleasing her. What did he know, after all? His cock had always been a weapon; his entire _body_ had done nothing but cause pain. Could he mount his Thaktor and be anything else? The realization that he simply couldn't was devastating, and his face showed his disappointment.

"Are you well, Aandar?" Eoforhild asked, and he startled again. "You seem... disturbed."

He shook his head sharply. "_Nar_. Aandar listen. Tell more."

"Are you certain?" she pressed worriedly. "If you need to talk..."

"_Nar_," he insisted gruffly, then forced a smile to soften his tone. "Eoforhild talk now. Aandar listen."

"Well...," she continued awkwardly, "I suppose I needn't belabor it. I swallowed my fears and humiliation, pushed away any thoughts of what my mother would say if she knew, and gave my body to whomever the madam sent to me. I told myself it was my choice, and I fiercely defended it. I ignored the ones who hurt me and focused on those who did not. When I could, I enjoyed it. I learned to please myself..." Blushing hotly all of a sudden, she faltered. "The ladies taught me that... unless I knew... knew my own body well, it would be difficult to take pleasure in my work. Also... if I did not... experience _great_ pleasure, I would not... it would be difficult to convince a man that he'd pleased me when he hadn't." She forced an uncomfortable chuckle. "Perhaps Men do not mind their wife crying out their name in the throes of passion, but they most definitely expect it of their whore. So I... learned what... I needed to."

Eying her askance, Aandar asked, "What do? Learn what?" Huffing with frustration, he added, "Don't know Man way. What do?"

"The ladies," Eoforhild said carefully, and as delicately as she could, "taught me... to use my... hand. To please myself. Not unlike what you have been doing. And very often, we... when the night's duties were finished... Well, if any came from their work... unsatisfied and... in need... we..." Shrugging helplessly, she said, "We pleasured each other."

The Uruk's eyebrows rose a small amount. "Like... female fuck female?"

Trying not to huff with embarrassed discomfort and indignity, she clarified, "_No_, we did not fuck each other. We cared enough for one another that... It was not so base as _that."_

"Love-make," he said, nodding confidently. "Not fuck, love-make. _Akh_?"

"Yes," she nodded, and sighed. "Yes, I suppose you could call it that. We touched one another in ways the men who used us rarely did. We could, for those moments, enjoy ourselves again. Be... reinvigorated, and able to meet the next day's customers, regardless of who they might be or how they might treat us. Though... there were some among us who... preferred another woman over a man. I was never that way, but I gave and received... and enjoyed the touch of a woman." Another awkward chuckle slipped out and she shrugged again. "Men do not understand that sometimes... what they think pleases us... only pleases themselves. A woman knows what a woman desires."

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, for this confession had been difficult, Eoforhild searched Aandar's face. In her experience, Men condemned what they did not see as 'natural,' and the affection of woman to woman – or indeed, man to man, she realized – was not considered natural because there was no issue from such unions. Yet she had seen the former, had even experienced it to some extent, and found nothing foul about it.

Though Aandar had revealed his own experiences of coupling – willingly or not – with other males, she was surprised to see him looking uncomfortable now, and worried that he did not see it as the same. Perhaps to him it wasn't, and she hastened to change the subject.

"Regardless," she said briskly, resuming her work at the frame, "I never returned to my parents' village. They likely think I am dead. I left a note..." She paused and swallowed the lump that rose in her throat, recalling that letter. "I can still see it," she whispered, blinking back the tears. "The things I wrote were... hurtful and cruel. It is no wonder no one went looking for me. It has been ten years, and I have seen and heard nothing of them."

Aandar pushed away the new disappointment that he was not only behind Mannish males in her preference, but apparently the females as well, and focused on what she was saying now.

"Ten year?" he asked. "What year? Don't know year."

"A year is twelve moons," she explained. "You are nine moons old. Not quite a year."

He nodded, then frowned. "Ten year... Twelve moon for year... Many moon."

"Yes, it is," she said, smiling slightly. "A very long time. And... I cannot go back there, not now." She bowed her head and her hands went limp upon the woven branches. "What I did to survive would shame my mother, for she did not raise me that way. She would be horrified to know the things that have happened to me since. I suppose... it is fortunate if she believes me dead. Grief is easier to stomach than shame."

Brushing the back of her sap-covered hand across her damp cheek, Eoforhild added, "After all this time, with war at our doorstep, I can't know that the village I grew up in even exists anymore." Glancing up, she said, "Your master allied with Dunland, and I grew up in the Gap of Rohan." The look of comprehension on his face told her she needn't elaborate.

An awkward silence reigned for a good while as they diligently crossed the branches and filled in gaps with bunches of pine needles and cones. Aandar sometimes left to forage more. Eoforhild wished he would speak; there was a disturbed quiet about him that concerned her.

When he returned with what would likely be the last bundle they needed, she reached over and laid her hand on his, halting his work. He met her gaze for only a moment before dropping his eyes.

"It is your turn, Aandar," she said softly. "Speak, and I will listen."

His brow furrowed deeply, and he couldn't seem to lift his gaze from her small pale hand covering his great dark one. There was so much about them that was different...

"Eoforhild," he rasped, his voice gruff with sadness, "want Man. Strong Man. Aandar... not strong."

Blinking, she sat in stunned silence for a moment before she could speak. "Why do you say that?"

"Promise... protect," he said, his head bowing deeper. "Say, strong. Not here when Orc come. Not... stop Nûlkol. Aandar not strong enough for Eoforhild. Let... Eoforhild down."

"Aandar, no," she breathed, and stepped around the framework to kneel closer to him. She touched his cheek, urging him to look at her. "No, you did not. You _do_ not. Not at all." She shook her head. "I am not that foolish girl anymore. My eyes are no longer closed. I... I can _see_ you, Aandar."

In that moment when his eyes met hers, and a slight smile of relief and gratitude tipped one side of his mouth, Eoforhild felt most strongly that he meant more to her than anyone she'd known since leaving her family behind. "I see you," she repeated, caressing his cheek.

"What see?" he asked, but answered his own question with bitterness. "See Aandar Uruk. Always... Uruk. Uruk... hurt. Uruk rape. Uruk... can't do Man way." Turning away, his shoulders sagged. "Eoforhild don't want more hurt. Aandar can't _not_ hurt."

"Is this what you fear?" she asked quietly. "That you simply can't avoid hurting me?"

He shrugged. "Want _sha__û__k_ Eoforhild. Want... love-make Eoforhild." His shoulders bunched as he flinched, anticipating her anger. She could not see his face, but knew from the tremble in his voice that he must be hiding eyes filled with tears. "Eoforhild say, Man touch soft sometime. Feel good. Say, Woman touch soft, feel good." He raised his hands for a moment, staring at the large palms, muscular fingers, and sharp claws. Then he clenched his fists and let them drop to his lap. "Never say, Uruk touch soft. Uruk touch... _not_ soft. Never soft. So Eoforhild never... never want."

Eoforhild reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps. But you don't _want_ to hurt me, do you?" He shook his head. "And... and you are no longer in your master's sway, true?" He shrugged and nodded. "Then... what you want to be... you _can_ be. If you want to touch softly, you can. You have but to _try_."

Turning slowly back around to face her, Aandar tilted his head uncertainly.

"You have, you know," she pointed out, a slight smile on her face. "You have held my hand. You have held me in your lap and smoothed my hair. You have... touched me in your sleep," she said, her face heating a little at the memory of his hand on her breast that first night, "and not done me harm. I believe you _can_ touch softly, Aandar, if you want to."

A low chuckle rumbled from him and he shook his head with amusement. "Eoforhild say good thing, Aandar better. Always. _Akh_, want touch soft. Touch _Eoforhild_ soft. Want love-make soft and please Eoforhild." Catching himself too late, his eyes widened and the smile left his face. "Not love-make. Not mean... not want make Eoforhild do bad thing..."

"Aandar," she said, interrupting his awkward retreat with a hand on his cheek, her thumb pressed to his lips. "Making love is not a bad thing."

He swallowed hard and murmured, "Eoforhild say, not want fuck Aandar."

She nodded. "That is so. I do not want that, not anymore."

"Understand," he said quietly, and as she had done before, she shook her head.

"No, you do not," she said. "I said I would not fuck you. I did not say... I would not make love with you."

It was several heartbeats before he seemed to comprehend her words. His breath caught, and he blinked at her. Yet as he drew a breath to speak, she raised a cautioning hand and said, "I am not ready, Aandar."

He let his breath out in a whoosh and nodded. "Understand. Not ready. Still see Uruk."

"I see _Aandar_," she clarified. "More clearly, perhaps, than before. The worry in my mind is not that I will see you, but that I will see _them_." Looking down at the thickly woven barrier, she sighed. "Now that this is done, what next?"

"_Akh_," Aandar said, shaking himself. For a moment, he'd let his imaginings run wild. Thaktor wanted love-making with him. That was what _sha__û__k_ did. Did this mean that they were _sha__û__k_, or could be soon? Is that what 'soon' meant when he heard it in the pool, and again when last they spoke of _sha__û__k_? Did it mean they would soon be _sha__û__k_? He dared not hope too much.

"Take in cave," he directed. Together they brought the barricade into the cave. Dusting off their hands, they set about preparing a meal, for both had been too bent on solving the bat problem to eat that morning.

As they ate, Aandar forced himself to broach the unpleasant subject of the fire.

"Close door, no fire," he told her. "Much smoke. So no fire. No fire, no light. No light, Eoforhild dream bad thing?"

She smiled a little and chuckled. "Aandar, I am embarrassed that something so simple as darkness should be my undoing. I have not feared the dark since I was a child." Sighing, she went on, "I believe I will be all right. I suppose... I am not so frightened of _you_ as I was even a day past. Far less, in fact. Your nearness is a comfort to me now. I think that if I can feel you next to me, I... I will know I am safe."

"_Akh_," he nodded, grinning. "Aandar near. Always near. Protect Eoforhild. Promise."

"I know you will."

* * *

Aandar was quite satisfied with the work they'd done on the barrier, and rather pleased that the rocks he'd found to wedge against it in the opening were heavy enough to hold it in place. He didn't want to spend the night lying with his back against it when he needed to be at Thaktor's side.

She readily lay in the curve of his body, snuggling close. He'd tried very hard not to overtly acknowledge that she smelled good. _Very_ good, and very inviting.

Closing his eyes, he breathed her in. There was something reassuring in her scent; though his loins were frequently on fire with longing for her because of the good smell, there were nuances to her overall scent that conjured feelings of comfort and contentment as well. It was this feeling that was strongest as he drifted into sleep.

Once more, he found himself in the pool. It was both startling and expected, seeing both of them standing close in the middle, the water just past their shoulders. They gazed at one another with gentle smiles even as the water lapped at their chins. Eoforhild's face was as he saw it in the waking world, the scars healed over, her eyes kind. His own face was beginning to scab over.

He didn't know how he knew, for he couldn't see, but he and Thaktor were holding hands beneath the surface.


	15. Chapter 15

The pitch darkness of the cave at night, and the utter silence broken only by Aandar's rumbling breaths, wrapped Eoforhild in a strange cocoon. Her dreams were not of Isengard but of a home she'd not known before. They were not of the family lost, but of one gained. They were of innocence and warmth, and in the center of all was Aandar. Had her wish for renewal been granted in the least anticipated way? Could there be a Man who would understand her trials better than one who had borne witness as Aandar had, who had endured like pain and suffering applied by the same hands? Could a Man hear the ugliness of her life and not hold it as proof of how deserving she was in receiving such torments? Whereas Aandar... sweet Aandar... lamented her suffering, grew angry that it was given, and vowed to keep her from pain always. Without judgment, without condemnation.

She could not imagine that, even a few days ago, she might feel comforted by the nearness of an Orc, or long for his touch. It was not so difficult or shameful to admit it now: it felt good to be in his arms. Her skin tingled when he so much as brushed her lightly with his fingers. She could look at him now and see a long-hidden beauty, once buried deeply and forced into hiding by abuse and misery. It was becoming more difficult to see in him the ugliness of his kind, nearly impossible to see the viciousness or the thoughtless cruelty displayed by others in his master's sway.

In _his_ arms, safety lay. In his embrace, there was comfort. In his bed...

_Not yet_, she reminded herself. It was not lack of affection that constrained her now, but worry that passion's will would prove her undoing. He'd already acknowledged a similar fear; if _he_ could not trust himself... But perhaps small steps... A little bit at a time...

Though Aandar did not snore as a Man would but rather purred, the rumbling sound of his breathing was not so loud that the returning bats' arrival at the barrier could not be heard. Eoforhild's restless thoughts had woken her early, yet she hadn't realized in her musings that the dawn had come, casting a cold grey light against the spindled shield.

Regardless that the obstruction was covered with prickly pine needles, the bats were most insistent about returning to their nest.

Aandar jerked awake as the screeching increased in volume. Both he and Eoforhild sat up sharply and stared through the gloom, trying to see if the barrier held. A startled scream tore from Eoforhild as a hurtling object shot through a chink in the barrier and hit her in the chest.

More bats followed, widening the opening. Both Aandar and Eoforhild scrambled across the floor to try and block the bats' egress with their bare hands. Because she wore something to protect her skin, Eoforhild spun on her haunches and put her back to the hole. Aandar feverishly slapped little black heads as they tried to get through in other places.

The battle lasted a good while, leaving Aandar's hands covered in nicks from the tiny teeth and Eoforhild's arms itchy from needle pricks and sap. Yet they were victorious, mostly. While a number of bats squeezed through and were noisily squawking their triumph in the back tunnel, many were left to find other accommodations in the light of day.

Eoforhild sagged, gasping for breath. She drew a shaky hand across her sweating forehead, then looked at Aandar. He was scowling, his eyes fixed on the rear tunnel. He was _trembling_ with anger.

"Aandar?" she ventured cautiously.

"Dumb," he growled, grabbing a stick that had come out of the barrier in the chaos and flinging it toward the bats' tunnel. "Not work. Aandar _dumb_." He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head. "Think good. Think door work. _Not_ work. Dumb think. Aandar _dumb_."

"No, it was a good idea," Eoforhild insisted, shifting closer to him. "It is _still_ a good plan. Aandar, we kept most of them out. Yes, some got through, and it is most annoying that they rub our noses in it now, but..." She sighed, looking at his hopeful if skeptical face. _He wants all or nothing_, she mused. _Things often are not that way._ "We will repair the door, and try again. Each day, fewer will return. We _will_ prevail; it will just take time."

Drawing a deep breath, he let it out slowly. "Like pool. Small move. Small move." He mimed the two of them getting closer, as was shown to him in his dreams.

Eoforhild nodded. "Yes. Just that way. Little by little. Small victories lead to great... rewards." She held his gaze for several moments before darting away self-consciously. "We should get more branches and... and sort this out. There must be some way we can keep them from slipping through."

"Need plug hole," Aandar rasped huskily. Eoforhild tensed for a moment, her hands going automatically to the frayed tunic and pulling it closed. His eyes watched her hands for a moment, then he shook his head sharply as though to clear it of what her gesture suggested. "Get branch. Eoforhild stay."

She didn't question him, simply nodding and helping him shift the barrier out of the way so he could leave. In his absence, she looked over the barrier, assessing the damage, and trying not to let her thoughts continue down whatever path on which they'd started.

Instead, her mind wandered after Aandar. Their conversation of the previous night came back to her, accompanied by a degree of longing. _I want him_, she thought with surety. _In so many ways, I need him as well. Is it possible that I love him? Could I? Can I? Do I?_

Slowly, she nodded. She sighed, relief in fully admitting her feelings to herself easing her tensions.

* * *

The bats hadn't destroyed the mesh of twigs and branches, but there were several largish holes left behind. Aandar's frustration over the door's failure to completely block the entry was barely held in check; his hands shook as he clumsily repaired the damages at Thaktor's side. At one point, she reached over and laid her hand on his wrist to steady him, and their eyes met briefly. Her smile was sympathetic, and reminded him that they were not defeated.

He thought of the darkness quite suddenly, of his worry that Thaktor would fear it and return to Isengard. Yet she'd slept quietly in his arms all night. Pausing for a moment, he looked at her with his head tilted to the side. After a moment, she noticed and gave him a questioning look.

"Eoforhild not fear dark," he stated.

A half smile turned up one corner of her mouth. "No, not since I was a child. I had a nightmare before, and... well, I am afraid not being able to see, I thought the dream had not ended upon my waking. It was always so dark in the cells."

Aandar nodded, then his brow furrowed. She'd mentioned the word a few times, but he really had no idea what it meant. "What child?"

It was tempting to express surprise at his ignorance, but she reminded herself that without a label applied to a thing, he could not know what it was. When would his master, who expended such energy to force his creations past childhood, have ever mentioned them?

"A child is a young Man," she explained. "Quite young, actually. And very small."

"How small?" he asked.

"Well, that depends," she said carefully, for he seemed to be growing alarmed. "When I was a child of eight years, I was... oh, I think half the height I am now. There were many differences in how I looked then and what you see now. I had not grown in... places." Frowning, she looked at Aandar with concern. "Are you well?"

He looked completely incredulous, utterly shocked. "Child... like... _whelp_?" he whispered cautiously.

"Yes," she said, nodding slowly. Her words did not seem to calm him in the least. "Though a whelp... we would call it a baby. They are... much... smaller. Aandar, what in the world...?"

Comprehension seemed to be stealing over him, widening his eyes and dropping his jaw.

"Aandar," she breathed, taking his hands in hers. "What is the matter?"

It took several moments for him to overcome his shock and speak. "_Snaga_ say whelp most good. Say, all care for whelp. Do for whelp. Clan... not clan if no whelp. Most good." Shaking his head, he went on, "Never see Uruk whelp. Don't know Orc whelp. Hear word, not know what _whelp_. Not... understand."

"Did you not know what they looked like, Aandar?" Eoforhild asked with surprise.

"_Nar_," he replied. "_Snaga_ say, come from female. So must be small. You say, Eoforhild child. Child whelp. So... Eoforhild _small_." He looked her up and down. "Not small _now_." He tilted his head to the side. "Master make Eoforhild grow?"

She almost laughed. Pursing her lips to keep from smiling, she said, "No, your master did not have a hand in it. I was born as a small... whelp, you might say. No larger than this." She held her hands out to demonstrate. "I was born of my mother in the natural way, not as your master managed it."

"Uruk not... natural?" His brow furrowed with confusion.

"Mind you, I fainted each time, but the... whelps were... they were cut from my body." She shuddered and had to take a deep breath to calm herself. Her hand went automatically to her belly. "Such a birthing is only done in emergencies, and rarely survived. Your master must have used his foul magics to keep us alive and... useful for another..."

She wasn't sure if she was disgusted or angry. Firming her mouth, she reminded herself that it was _over_. She need never endure such torment again. But as her eyes fell upon Aandar's open face, she experienced a strange warmth, as though the thought of bearing _his_ young was not quite so abhorrent. The realization startled her, and creased her brow with as much confusion as wonder. Had he changed so much in her eyes that such thoughts not only came, but were not rejected?

"Aandar... sorry," he said in a low, shame-filled voice.

"You needn't be sorry," she said, "not for the deeds of your master."

"What 'natural' way?" Aandar asked, his insatiable curiosity pushing aside a good deal of his discomfort.

A slight smile curved her lips. "I have only seen one birthing. The whelp... emerges from the female..." She gestured rather vaguely toward her lap. "From _here_. Where the male..." Huffing with embarrassment, for she'd not been called upon to have this discussion with a man before, much less an Uruk, she finished in a rush, "The male's seed goes in, and the whelp comes out. Nine moons later."

His eyes could not have widened further without engulfing his face. "_How_ big whelp?" he asked again.

Now she laughed. "_This_ big. Yes, it is quite amazing. A woman's body is very resilient. It can endure... much." _Yes, it can,_ she mused inwardly. Only a month at most had passed since her last whelping. The aches that never seemed to go away in the cell were long forgotten now. The nearly constant pain between her legs was also gone. Was escape from that place, and an end to the torture, all she'd needed for her body to heal itself? Perhaps. And perhaps the consideration of a caring friend was all she required to heal her soul, for she felt stronger at this moment than she'd felt in what seemed an eternity.

Shaking his head with wonder, Aandar chuckled. "Want see, one day. Aandar whelp." He darted an uncertain look at Thaktor, and was relieved that she only smiled a little. She did not admonish him for saying such a thing.

After a moment, she frowned. "Aandar... you said before... you saw the whelps taken from us? The ones that were buried and..."

"_Nar_," he shook his head. "Not _see_. _Snaga_ tell. Say, master take whelp, put in mud hole. Uruk come out, like Aandar. Big and strong." He grinned for a moment, puffing his chest proudly. Yet it still troubled him that he'd missed something Thaktor seemed to think was important. "Eoforhild child? What child do?"

"Well," she began thoughtfully, "I had friends and we played together. Often pretending we were grown-ups, of course." A light smile softened her features, and Aandar found himself smiling as well. She seemed... different, somehow, in her reminiscence. "The boys would one day be _eorlingas_ and we girls, shieldmaidens of the Riddermark. We had such adventures... There was a small stream that ran less than a mile from our village, but when we needed it to be the Isen or the Deeping Stream, it was more than capable of filling the role." Giggling into her hand, she whispered, "The first boy who ever kissed me tossed me into that stream. We all knew then that he favored me."

"What kiss?" Aandar asked curiously.

Her smile faded and she became serious. The Uruk immediately regretted bringing it up, but then her smile returned.

"It is an endearment shared by those who have affection for one another," she explained. "One presses one's lips to another."

"Feel good?" he said, raising his eyebrows skeptically.

"I have always thought so," she replied, feeling slightly awkward. What if he asked for a demonstration? Was she ready to give it to him?

"Lip touch," he muttered, a frown on his face. "Bite?"

"No," she said firmly. "There is no biting. A kiss is... a soft touch."

Nodding his understanding, he urged, "More tell."

"Very well," she said, relaxing. "We played games and danced and sang songs. Most of the time, all was peaceful. Only rarely did a small party of Dunlendings come to steal livestock or vandalize our crops. I remember those times, for the children would be herded down into the cellar in the longhouse." A slightly embarrassed smile crossed her face. "I think that may have been the start of my fears. It was so dark in that cellar... If we were lucky enough to have a torch on hand, the shadows danced like demons upon the walls. And with the sounds of battle above..." She shuddered.

Aandar's expression became worried. "Uruk come? Village... Uruk come?"

"Not when I was a child, no," she said, shaking her head. "But as I said, it has been ten years since I left. Anything could have happened." Her face clouded with worry. "Anything, really."

Shaking herself, she returned to a more pleasant topic. "Most of the time, we shieldmaidens wielded sticks with the boys and sparred along with them. But once in awhile, we allowed them to play the hero and 'rescue' us from some imagined foe."

Again, his brow furrowed. "Don't understand. Child fight enemy? How?"

"Well, we pretended, you see," she patiently explained. "There were no _real_ enemies. We were kept safe by our parents and other elders in the village. That is... well, that is what is done. The eldest protect the youngest. Young children especially. So the 'enemy' we fought was, perhaps, a tree or bush we had declared as such. Or perhaps we would divide our own number and assign one group to be Dunlendings or Orcs, while the other was the brave Rohirrim." She shrugged helplessly. "I do not know how else to explain it."

"So... Dunland and Orc... not real?" he ventured cautiously.

"No, they were not," she replied. "That is the way it is with children. They are protected from harm, so it is safe for them to explore new things, to rescue ladies and fight monsters, knowing they need only declare the game ended for the enemies to disappear."

"Orcs... monsters," he said quietly, bowing his head.

"Not all of you," she said quickly, reaching out to touch his hand. "And not _you, _anymore."

He shook his head. "Aandar monster."

"Not anymore," Eoforhild told him firmly. "A monster does not care, and you do."

After a moment, he shrugged and nodded a little. "_Akh_. Aandar care. So not... monster." He glanced at her to ensure his conclusion was correct, and she smiled warmly.

Remembering her worried look earlier, he ventured, "Want see parents?"

She shifted uncomfortably and looked away. "Sometimes, yes, I do. I want to tell them I'm... I'm all right. And that I am... sorry." Closing her eyes, she said, "But I am afraid I will find that they are gone from this world, with nothing but my harsh words to remember me by. I am afraid to find out... that I cannot make amends." She let out a shaky breath. "And so I will not look."

"Ten year," he said quietly. "Long time. Thing... happen, maybe."

"Yes," she nodded sadly. "Anything could have happened."

"How many year Eoforhild?" he asked, tilting his head. "Say, leave village ten year. How many year?"

"I am twenty-five now, I expect," she replied, then shrugged. "Close to it, at any rate. It seemed I was in Isengard for ages, but it was only half a year at most."

Aandar blinked at her with surprise. "Some... tell Aandar... _globatish_ Ghrulagûrz twenty five year. Not know twelve moon make year. Know Ghrulagûrz old; not know Eoforhild _same_." He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, examining her critically. "Not like Ghrulagûrz."

"I am... not sure I understand...," she said uncertainly. She rather hoped she _didn't_ look like the _globatish_.

"Ghrulagûrz hair grey," he explained. "Face... old. Not like Eoforhild face." Half smiling, he ran his fingers down his own cheek. "Uruk face rough. Ghrulagûrz face... many scar from fire." He shrugged. "Make look old, maybe?"

"Perhaps," she agreed. Because they were on the subject, she looked more closely at _him_. Until a few days ago, she hadn't any idea that the wizard aged the Uruk-hai past childhood. Now she wondered just what age they were when they emerged. How many years were lost?

"Aandar," she asked carefully, "what is the age of the oldest Uruk you've ever heard of?"

He seemed startled by the question, yet thought hard on it. "Some _pizdur_ have many year. _Pizb__û__r_ train Aandar, have twenty-six year. _Globatish_ have twenty-five. _Pizdur_ Uglûk twenty-five. Don't know, more year. Not many have more year." Leaning forward, he went on, "_Orc_ live long. Pitmaster have three hundred year. Smith at forge, six hundred year."

Startled, Eoforhild stared at him in shock. "So old? I had no idea. Then... surely an Uruk..." Then her expression clouded. "I suppose... you can't know, can you?"

"Know what?"

"How long you might live," she replied. "You have the look and manner of a very young Man, one who might have only just left his childhood behind. Eighteen, perhaps? But you are... bred from Men, and we do not live so long."

"Maybe... Eorforhild and Aandar... find out?" he ventured, unsure. A smile spread across her face. Her lovely face...

"Yes, I would like to learn... _with_ you," she said.

* * *

The day drew on, and Eoforhild shivered from the bath she'd forced herself to take in the nearby stream. Aandar kept a discreet distance, seeing to his own ablutions and not interfering with hers. Now she fretted over the meat left over from their mid-day meal. How on earth were they to preserve the bounty Aandar had acquired when he'd gone hunting after their baths? There was more to this wild boar than they could consume in a single day, or even two. Turning to where he sat by the fire sorting the feathers he'd plucked from a bird also brought down on his hunt, she asked, "What were you given for rations?"

He frowned with thought. "Meat," he finally replied, not entirely sure why it mattered. Her expression told him it was _terribly_ important, so intently did she await his answer.

"Was it raw?" she pressed. "Or had it been cooked?"

"Cook," he affirmed. "Dry. No blood. No _taste_." Grimacing, he shook his head. "Long time eat, not fill belly. Not worth eat."

A grim chuckle escaped her. "How you must have looked forward to raiding our stores, then."

Grunting with amusement, he nodded. "_Akh_. Much meat, hang in small room. Good meat."

All of a sudden, her eyes popped open wide. "Oh my goodness, a _smoke house_. Of course!" Her mind immediately set to work, running through her memories, hunting for some recollection from her childhood or a snippet of something she might have run across in the villages.

Aandar smiled, watching her think. She grabbed a stick and began scratching in the dirt, drawing shapes and muttering under her breath. Every now and then, she paused and gazed into space, eyes narrowed as she engaged in some internal debate or tried to grasp a furtive memory. It filled him with pride that his _sha__û__k_ was so vibrant, so passionate.

Yes, Thaktor was his _sha__û__k_. To him, at least, that was the place she held in his world. If it took her a day or a year or a hundred to call him _sha__û__k_ in return, it did not matter. He would be there waiting when she did. He would not lose her as he'd lost Morkoth.

Perhaps it was because of what they'd discussed earlier about whelps that recalling his old friend brought a particularly awful memory to him. His brow creased and he looked away from his Thaktor's scribbling. Did nothing from before bring a smile? Thaktor could look past Isengard to an earlier time and recall such wonderful things; friends and parents and being wanted and cared for... All that Aandar had was blackness and despair. And not all of it his...

"Aandar?"

Jerking back to the present, he met Thaktor's concerned gaze. "_Akh_?"

"Are you all right?" she asked. "I apologize; I was trying to solve... Never mind. Do you need to talk?"

He debated saying no and sparing her yet another horror. Yet if he held it inside, would it ever go away? Sighing, he hung his head and spoke in a low voice.

"Morkoth... friend," he said slowly. "Get lash, all time. Don't like master, don't want do thing master tell do. But... Morkoth big... strong... Master want... want Morkoth for breed, so... tell Morkoth, breed. Morkoth say, fuck off. Not breed." Furrowing his brow, he remembered that Morkoth spoke with Men. Dunlendings they may have been, but they were Men, and Morkoth learned their ways. "Morkoth know," he realized. "Know not breed. _Rape_, not breed. Don't want do rape."

Eoforhild's brow arched. "Indeed? One of your kind... knew the difference?"

"_Akh_," he nodded. "Morkoth know. _Must_ know rape bad. Tell master, fuck off; not do rape."

"What did your master do to him?" she breathed, anticipating something terrible.

"Morkoth get lash," Aandar said. "Many lash. Pitmaster come give lash, then take Morkoth down. Make breed... rape."

"At least... I suppose, it was only once," she said consolingly, but Aandar shook his head.

"_Nar_, Morkoth _big_," he explained. "Master want big Uruk. Many big Uruk. Morkoth breed... rape many time. Hate all time, fight all time. Don't win. Pitmaster bring more _snaga_, beat harder, drag Morkoth down."

"Oh," Eoforhild said, pressing her hand to her mouth. She hadn't thought for a moment that any of them might resist the 'privilege' of raping the women in the breeding pits. She found she appreciated and, perhaps, admired the protestations of this one.

"One time," Aandar continued, "Morkoth come back. Pitmaster whip _hard_. Long time, whip Morkoth. _Snaga_ _carry_ Morkoth to barracks. See Morkoth, follow. Need paste for lash mark. Aandar beg _snaga_ for paste, to heal lash mark. So many..." He shuddered, recalling his friend's flesh laid open from neck to ankles. "Morkoth not wake for two day. Aandar hide in barracks, keep Morkoth warm, put paste on."

Eoforhild felt tears sting her eyes, and she reached out to hold Aandar's hand.

"Morkoth wake and not speak," he continued, his voice shaking. "Just... close. Hold close." Unable to find the words, he demonstrated how Morkoth curled in upon himself, his knees drawn up, arms folded against his chest. His tall, strong friend trembled in a ball, his eyes on the wall, his back to his fellows in the barracks. Even recalling that time, Aandar felt helplessness overcome him once more. "Not know what do. Just... stay. Guard Morkoth." An ironic chuckle escaped him. "First time, no rape in barracks. Not Aandar barracks; _Morkoth_ barracks. So no rape. Feel... good. Safe."

"It must have been a relief," Eoforhild agreed. "Could you not... just stay there..."

"_Nar_," he shook his head. "No choice." Waving the thought away, Aandar continued. "Morkoth not speak for day. Then say, 'Don't make female whelp for master.' That all. Pitmaster come again. More breed-rape. Morkoth fight; _Aandar_ fight. Pitmaster call more _snaga_. Too many." He sagged with remembered defeat. "Pitmaster beat Morkoth more, drag down. _Snaga_ beat Aandar, lock in piss pit five day."

"_Five_ days?" Eoforhild blurted with shock. "How in the world did you survive?"

Humiliated, Aandar muttered, "Drink piss. No choice. Need drink bad. No choice."

Eoforhild blanched, but nodded her understanding. "No, you had no choice. Oh, Aandar, I... I did not realize just how... _hopeless_ it was for you. For _all_ of you. Any that thought differently... You were crushed, weren't you?"

"_Akh_," he nodded miserably. "No choice. Master say do... Uruk _do_. No choice."

"I hope he is dead," she growled fiercely, and Aandar started. "I hope that when you felt his voice go silent, it was because he _died_. You were not all monsters; you did not all want to _be_ monsters. He had no right to _make_ you monsters. He took so much... from you, from me... He gave _nothing_." She clenched her fists in impotent fury. "Eru, if you are no longer deaf to my pleas, _make him suffer as we did._"

"What Eru?" Aandar asked. It was not a word she'd spoken before.

Eoforhild's ire diminished somewhat. "Eru is... difficult to explain," she replied. "He is the creator of all. Many appeal to Him for relief from pain. He and I... have not had much to say to one another. I begged Him to help me... help _us_... But no ending came. My answer was always another day on the table, another night hearing the tormented weeping. I called and called... and... no one came..." She almost gave in once more to despair when her hand was taken up and held gently.

"Aandar come," he murmured. "Maybe... Eru send Aandar?" he added, a hopeful look on his face

Meeting his eyes, she couldn't respond for a moment. She'd never given it a thought, but now quite suddenly she found herself wondering. Was it possible? Had the savior she called for, the understanding healer she needed, the answer to her prayers, come in the form of Aandar? "Perhaps... perhaps He did," she said with an uncertain smile.

* * *

As night fell, Aandar glared at the rear tunnel, daring the bats to come out. He was ready; the barrier was repaired, and he was certain this time... Somewhat certain, that is. Brow furrowing, he once more examined the work they'd done with a critical eye and gnawed his lip.

"Do you think it will hold?" Eoforhild asked, looking up from her drawings in the dirt. She'd felt certain that if she drew the smokehouses she'd seen, she would remember more details. While this had worked, and she felt fairly confident that she could figure out a way to enclose a fire and smoke meat effectively, she now found herself idly scratching other things she recalled. Houses and people, mostly.

"Don't know," he grumbled, picking at the pine needles and frowning. "Need... some thing. Stop bat. Plug hole."

"Well," she said, going to kneel next to him, "we are, I think, more clever than bats. What needs to be done?"

"Need...," he began, then growled at himself. "Don't know word."

"We can sort it out together," she said encouragingly. "Show me."

Sighing, Aandar laid his hands flat on the barrier and smoothed them over the interwoven branches. "Something... cover. No hole. Most bat not like needle. Don't come in. Other bat..." Grimacing, he thrust his finger through a small break in the barrier. "Stupid bat too smart for Aandar."

Once more, her hand strayed to the tunic she wore. Already split, it would cover a fair amount of the barrier. It would plug many of those holes if secured flat. The rest... Her gaze shifted to Aandar's breeches.

Taking a deep breath, Eoforhild came to a decision. "I think... there may be a way."

"What way?" Aandar asked eagerly.

"Our... clothing," she suggested in a small voice. She found she could not look at him.

As if intending to cover her embarrassment, the bats chose that moment to exit the cave, forcing Eoforhild and Aandar to throw themselves flat on the ground. They were too near the tunnel to be easily avoided by the bats on the wing.

Slowly rising after the colony's departure, Eoforhild ventured a peek at Aandar's face. He was looking at her curiously.

"Want use clothing," he said, as though verifying he'd heard correctly.

Straightening with cobbled-together dignity, she nodded. "Yes. At least... it is something we can... we can try. For tonight." Glancing helplessly toward the firepit, she said, "It will be cold again."

"Promise warm," Aandar reminded her. "Give warm."

"Do you understand what I am saying, Aandar?" she said. Tension settled into her at the thought of being so much more vulnerable in his arms than she'd ever been. Yet... this was their home. If they were to claim it for themselves, they must be prepared to make sacrifices.

There was also the memory of embracing him before, and their skin touching. Was it too much to ask for such a thing again? To be held by _him_, their bodies pressed, his warmth enveloping her, feeling every part of him with every part of her...

She shivered pleasantly at the thought.

"_Akh_," he said, his expression serious. "Want... touch. Close and no clothing. Only touch, _akh_? No... love-make?"

Regardless of the automatic flutter that ran through her at his words, Eoforhild nodded. "Yes. Just... touching. I am sorry I... I cannot give you more than that." Bowing her head, she said, "It is too much to ask of you. I could not ask such a thing of a Man, either. Forgive me."

"Not ask Man," he said, then smiled a little. "Ask friend?"

She could not help smiling in return. "I think what I ask goes beyond the expectations of a friend." When he tilted his head curiously, she added, "I suppose it is the sort of thing... a _sha__û__k_ would give."

Aandar's face smoothed with a gentle, reverent smile. "Then Aandar give Eoforhild _sha__û__k_ touch."

The way he said _sha__û__k_, coupled with the look upon his face, filled Eoforhild with almost the same veneration. She could well imagine her parents indulging such embraces when the day's toil exacted too great a toll upon them for lovemaking. Indeed, when her father's body failed him, had they found comfort in one another's arms this way?

In that moment, recalling her parents' love, Eoforhild realized she desired this embrace not for its novelty or selfish comforts. She wanted it because she would share it with Aandar. "Please do," she breathed.

Swallowing hard, Aandar felt suddenly uncomfortable. "Aandar fear," he whispered.

"So do I," she nodded, and clasped his hand. "Tell me of your fears, and I shall tell you mine. Perhaps what we fear is of little consequence.

Nodding, he gathered himself to speak. "Touch Eoforhild and... cock hard. Don't want make Eoforhild fear. Don't want make bad dream for Eoforhild."

"I do not fear your body any longer," she reassured him. "You are not ruled by lust, and your master does not use it against you. It does not enslave you as it once did. I _have_ noticed." She smiled teasingly.

He couldn't help but chuckle, and ducked his head with amused embarrassment. Yet his smile faded quickly. As he continued, his voice began to tremble. "Aandar fear Eoforhild change think. Say now, no love-make. Change think, ask for love-make. What Aandar do? Fear... hurt Eoforhild. Fear... rape Eoforhild. Not love-make. Aandar not know love-make. Not know soft touch. Hurt Eoforhild. Hate for Aandar. Eoforhild... leave. Aandar miss Eoforhild. Eoforhild not near, Aandar want die."

Eoforhild nodded, acknowledging his distress. She reached up and caressed his cheek. "This will test us both, Aandar. My fear is that my body will overrule my mind. I think to myself that what I endured must surely have killed my desire for sex. Surely I do not wish to ever feel a man's body again. Yet I look upon you and my body... wants. It remembers past pleasures. To my shame, I feel... lust when I look at you." She smiled wanly at his uncertain and perhaps disbelieving expression.

"You are not ugly, Aandar. I do not believe I ever thought you were. In truth, I have found in you... something wonderful, and wholly unexpected." Taking a deep breath, she added, "Something I wish to embrace."

Taking up his other hand and holding them both, she vowed firmly, "I promise I will do no more than hold you. I shan't entice you beyond what you can endure." Arching her brow, she urged rather flippantly, "Will you make the same promise to me?"

Aandar could not suppress his smile, nor entirely hide his pleasure at her words. "Aandar promise not make Eoforhild...," he began, then paused. A mischievous gleam sparkled in his yellow eyes. "Promise not make Eoforhild want take fuck from Aandar."

Her eyes shot open wide and a surprised giggle burst out. "You are _terrible_!" she admonished through her laughter. "Simply horrible." Shaking her head, she smirked, "I will try very hard to control myself, in_ spite_ of your temptations."

Finding her tensions eased, it was not quite so difficult to remove the tunic, yet she still did so awkwardly. His eyes were fixed upon her body, and all she could think was that it was left in ruins by vicious claws and cruel whipping. There could be nothing of her beauty left, not for anyone to find. It seemed vain to lament its loss now, and place such importance on something so superficial. With shaky hands, she laid the tunic flat on the barrier, but could not look at Aandar.

"Eoforhild... beautiful," he murmured sincerely. She glanced up at his face, expecting to see a leering grin, but his smile was anything but lustful. His eyes roamed her form, it was true, but he had the look of a Man admiring a magnificent view. There was awe and wonder in his expression, and she felt as though she were a very young girl meeting an avid suitor for the first time. She crossed her arms over her scarred breasts and hung her head.

"Am I still?" she whispered, her voice weak and unsure. Tears formed in her eyes and spilled over.

"_Akh_," Aandar assured her. "Eoforhild always beautiful. Aandar... most lucky." He bowed his head for a moment. "Uruk not get _sha__û__k_. No _sha__û__k_ for any Uruk. Aandar find Eoforhild... find _sha__û__k..._" He roughly swiped away tears threatening to fall down his own cheeks. "Aandar lucky. Only Uruk with _sha__û__k_. And... _sha__û__k_ is beautiful Eoforhild."

"I believe... I am lucky as well," she said, moved by his words. "Of all your folk who_ could_ have been there in the breeding room, _you_ were there. Every moment since then, you have made me glad of that." Reaching out, she cupped his cheek in her hand. "I have found I need not look far to find _your_ beauty, Aandar."

"Aandar not ugly?" he asked. He seemed to be keeping the thrill at bay, yet it bubbled beneath the surface. He'd often lamented his looks, not wanting to be inadequately appealing to her, when all along he'd been far _too_ appealing for her comfort. She smiled warmly.

"No, Aandar," she said softly. "You are not ugly." He fairly quivered with relief, and his smile was broad. Yet there was still one thing more to be done. Taking a deep breath, she gestured to the half-covered barrier. "You must... add your breeches."

"_Akh_," he nodded, becoming serious again. This would not be easy; while removing his clothing did not bother him, he was already hard. Seeing her body revealed to him in the cheerful light of a good fire, rather than in the dim torchlight of the breeding pit, aroused him greatly even as it saddened him. She'd said he wasn't a slave to his lust, but his cock certainly was. Now was not the time for love-make; in his head, he knew this. The message did not seem to have reached his cock. His hands shook untying the laces of his breeches. She would see, and think he had not changed and that he ignored the boundaries she'd set. She would think he wanted only one thing; he winced recalling her accusations of only a day or so ago.

He peeled the breeches off and dutifully laid them on the barrier. In silence, they worked together to tuck and tie their clothing across the vulnerable middle of the barrier. Together, their gazes fixed deliberately upon the frame, they raised it over the opening and wedged it with heavy stones. Then Eoforhild retreated to their sleeping place, and Aandar smothered the fire with nervous handfuls of dirt.

There was relief in the utter darkness that enveloped them once the fire was quenched. Eyes tempted to drink in too much were blinded. Eoforhild sat nervously, feeling him approach. It was entirely different this time. There was anticipation bordering on giddiness; she would be held by one she cared for, skin to skin. She would feel him, _all_ of him, and know him in a way she didn't before. Was the cave already becoming colder, or did she shiver for another reason? Yet she started when she felt his searching hand brush her foot.

"Dark," he said apologetically. "Aandar not Orc; can't see."

"You have found me," she said shakily. She could sense his movements, seemingly more lumbering by the lack of light and her unclothed vulnerability. Settling alongside her, he lay down on his side, she was sure, and she pondered her next move.

It was a brief debate. She felt she had not come this far only to present her back to him. That was not what she wanted.

"Aandar," she said quietly, "may I face you? Would that be too difficult to manage?"

She could hear his nervous swallow. When he spoke, his voice cracked. "Aandar... strong," he said with clumsy reassurance.

A tiny laugh snuck out, and she found herself grinning. "That you are." She edged closer, feeling with her hands until she reached him. Her fingers traced down his arm, learning his position and judging where she should lie to best match him. Then she slowly lay down, her hand on his shoulder, pillowing her head on her other arm. They were near, but barely in contact. _Small steps_, she thought.

He gasped a little, and seemed to be having great difficulty speaking with her bare breasts lightly brushing his chest. "Aandar... want... hold Thaktor," he breathed, yet made no move to do so.

It struck her suddenly that his word for her, Thaktor, was no different from the pet names of her parents. Her father called her mother 'beloved'; she called him 'dearest one.' Aandar knew her true name and used it, but this name... He did not use it to torment her or suppress her identity. He used it to tell her how beautiful he thought she was. How dear she was to him.

Smoothing her hand over his shoulder to cup his cheek, she said, "I would not mind if you did."

A rumbling purr poured forth from deep in his chest as he carefully put his arm about her. In so doing, he edged a little closer, enough that she could feel his erection begin to press against her sex. He promptly jerked back.

"_Nar_,"he said breathlessly. "Sorry."

"I do not mind, Aandar," she reassured him. "I am not afraid. Though... if it would make you feel... stronger, perhaps you should..."

"_Akh_," he nodded. "Flick." He reached between them and she heard the small sound of the strike and his brief grunt of discomfort. He took a few deep breaths, then moved close again. She was aroused by the warmth of his manhood, the shape of it against her thigh, the softness of the skin in contrast to the rest of his body. She found herself wishing he would harden again, and glad that it was unlikely he would remain flaccid for long.

Relaxing, she let her hand move slowly down his chest. He had so many scars; in the dark, they seemed to stand out more to her fingertips than they had to her eyes, or perhaps she had simply not touched him this way before. She slipped her arm around his waist.

Now she was near enough to rest her cheek on his chest. Her breasts were flattened between them and his manhood rested in the cleft made by her clamped thighs. His arm held her close; her arm held _him_ close. His hand slowly, as though hoping not to be noticed and reprimanded for taking liberties, every so lightly caressed her back.

So close, she found herself breathing in his scent. She hadn't taken note of it before. While it was true he had an Orcish scent about him, there was something else, something alluring. Was it his arousal attracting her? Perhaps. Whatever it was she found so enticing, she drew deep breaths of it, closing her eyes to enjoy every moment.

Aandar realized she was scenting him the same way he did her, and his breath quickened. She must find him pleasing, he decided. As much as her scent pleased him, at least. Ducking his head, he returned the gesture, and was rewarded with the strongest good smell he'd ever detected. In moments, his cock responded to the call. Tensing with alarm, he tried to shift backwards to give himself enough room to put a stop to it, but Thaktor's arm about his waist tightened.

"No," she whispered softly. "Let me feel you. _All_ of you. However you may be."

Swallowing nervously, he tried to relax. He'd taken wounds in battle that were not so difficult to manage as this. Not even the barracks presented this sort of challenge.

He was not the only one so provoked. The feel of him was so tempting, she found herself wanting to lift her leg onto his hip. To open herself to him, to invite him in. The desire... the _need_ for such a thing so shocked her she did not know _what_ to do. Was she ready to make love with him after all? Regardless of her treacherous body's lusts, she couldn't be sure. She did not want to find out after she had drawn him in that she wasn't.

So she held herself in check. The irony was not lost on her.

"Pitmaster mark," Aandar said quietly, calling her attention to his hand on her back. His brutal, clawed hand he thought incapable of gentleness was stroking her skin very softly.

"Yes," she nodded, though it was too dark for him to see. "He marked you as well." She let her hand explore his back, touching the confusion of scars in a hopeless attempt to identify the more recent ones made by the Orc amidst the criss-crossed welts he bore. "You have seen many battles," she murmured.

"Tell you all," he rumbled. "All scar tell story. Want tell Thak-... Eoforhild..."

"I want to hear your stories, Aandar. And you may call me Thaktor if you wish." He fairly whimpered with pleasure and nuzzled her ear. His warm breath on her neck tickled and she giggled.

"Aandar like this," he whispered. "Like _sha__û__k_ touch. Feel good."

"Yes, it does," Eoforhild smiled. "I have wanted this... with _you_... for some time now. I am glad the bats angered you so, for we might not have been driven to this for a long while."

He chuckled, once more nosing around her neck. "Aandar forget bat. Think only, please Eoforhild. _Sha__û__k _touch and please Eoforhild."

"Are _you_ pleased, Aandar?"

He nodded, his cheek rubbing against her hair. "_Akh_, most please."

"Your touch is so soft," she murmured drowsily. "I wonder that you thought yourself unable."

"Thaktor make Aandar want soft, so touch soft," he said. "Thaktor touch soft. Most soft. Good... most good." His sleepy voice trailed off into contented purring. Sighing, Eoforhild turned her head slightly and pressed her lips to the tattoo of his name.

"Your master could not possibly have foreseen this," Eoforhild whispered, her lips brushing his skin as she spoke. "He made you for one purpose, yet you have found another. He tried to destroy me, yet I have risen once more. _You_ helped me rise, Aandar. In spite of all, we have found solace in one another's arms."

"What... solace?" he asked unsteadily, for the whisper of her lips on his flesh could still be felt though she'd stopped talking.

"Peace," she replied. "Comfort. Contentment." A smile he could not see softened her scarred face. "I am blessed by Eru, to be given such an admirable _sha__û__k_ as Aandar."

She did not need to see him to know he was grinning with joy. "Eoforhild and Aandar... _sha__û__k_?"

"Yes," she nodded, relieved by the surety of her own feelings, and pleased by his. "We are _sha__û__k_."

His embrace tightened slightly, for even in his happiness he was mindful of his strength. "Thaktor... _sha__û__k-izub_," he said thickly, and she realized he was on the verge of tears.

A lump formed in her throat, and she pulled him closer still. "Yes, Aandar. My _sha__û__k."_

* * *

Aandar's dreaming that night took him one last time to the pool. There in the center, he and Thaktor floated beneath the surface, completely submerged. He felt no sense of urgency or concern; they were in no danger. They were embracing, her head against his shoulder, his cheek pressed to her head.

Even without their declaration to one another, he would have known by this that they had found harmony, a perfect balance with one another. He did not need to hear the word spoken in a breathy whisper, but it filled him with a surge of joy when he did.

_Sha__û__k_.


	16. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

How many years had it been since the Jailor went by his own name? Too many to count, in point of fact, but he'd kept count anyway. Forty-three years he'd served the White Hand. The Hand didn't have much interest in what their names were; likely didn't think they had any. Wouldn't have cared if he did. He was _Jailor_, if the wizard troubled himself to address the Orc.

But with the screams of the dying and the roar of the flood waters still loud in his ears, the Jailor took his own name back. Nariinarash made damn sure those with him did the same.

There were five he'd dragged screaming out of their cells. It was all he had time for. Fortunately, they only hesitated for a second before following him out the south tunnel that ran under the breeding cells. Of the five, only two didn't ask questions. He'd made sure 124 got to keep 125 with her, see. The Hand took everything he could claw out of you; Nariinarash denied him this _tark_ woman's girl-child.

At least, he did what he could. The young one got bred same as her dam, but Nariinarash kept them together. It was all he _could_ do. But she was grateful for what he could manage all the same.

The waters couldn't have come sooner. Poor 124... _Brega_, she was due for her last round. Same with her little one, Hilda. He'd have hated to see the last of them that way. Bad enough seeing it now. Maybe he was going soft.

He chuckled bitterly, recalling how certain one of the women – Matilda – was that he'd be after her cunny soon as they got free. He didn't think she opened her legs to so much as piss the whole two days since their escape, even after he told her he didn't want to fuck a _tark_ any more than she'd want to fuck a dog. She was damned insulted by that comparison, for some reason. Just no pleasing her.

But there they were, the five who'd survived the Hand's pits, who dragged themselves naked out of the tunnel, half-drowned and exhausted... they were about to talk to those folks down there in the village. Nariinarash could barely see what was happening; he had to keep himself hidden, since there were yellowhairs down there. Their females, anyway. The Men were like as not called to war or other. There didn't seem to be many about, anyway.

Lucky thing the grass was so tall a hunched Orc could hide himself well. Gnawing his lip worriedly, he watched them speaking to a handful of biddies. Would those folks realize the women wore clothes stolen from their own washlines? Nariinarash hadn't any choice; there weren't any farms or villages intact between here and Isengard. There was nothing he could do but get them this far, steal something to dress them up a bit with, and hope for the best.

_Ah, there they go,_ he thought, a smile on his face. The village women took them in. Breathing a sigh of relief, and perhaps a little regret, he nodded with satisfaction to himself. _Take that, you lying cheat of a wizard_.

* * *

Nariinarash had borne witness to his master's ambitious goals for decades. He watched the first mountain Orcs swagger in, heads full of the Hand's lies. He watched them after they were set upon by a swarm of eager Goblins, ambushed in the valley and dragged down, down into the bowels of the earth, and locked in cages. He watched them beaten down, notch by notch, inch by inch, until they were near mindless fuck machines, generating the first spawn for the Hand's army. Then he watched them get slaughtered, every last one of them, when their use was exhausted.

He made himself remember what names he could, for who would sing of them now? The clans were depleted of their warriors, left at the mercy of the Horselords, believing if they sent more, relief would come. Their soldiers would beat back the relentless tide of Men and they would have peace. Such was not to be. The Hand took their strongest, and gave them nothing in return.

His mind ticked through the clan names now, as he flitted through the grasses back to the safety of the mountains: Pilikgrishûrz, Fitumazauk, Shatûpshaatii, Frûmnarghaash, Durthraang. All lost long ago.

Names were important. Those he learned, he never forgot. These five _tark_ women would be forever etched in his memory: Brega, Hilda, Amelia, Linza, Matilda. In truth, though, they weren't alone. He had many names to think about. The mountain Orcs came with proud names, and the Pitmaster gave their whelps good strong names until he ran out. Then it became a game to him. Nariinarash remembered running across Uruks with names like Bûbhosh and Mozlagal, Pushmaath and Irzalobûrz. One unfortunate got stuck with Zukuru, and did he ever get a load of grief because of it. Nariinarash didn't want to contemplate what likely happened to Rûktramal out on a raid. The Pitmaster snickered every time one of them showed up in the pits for breeding.

Nariinarash scowled. He never liked the Pitmaster, whose name was, appropriately enough, Frapuishi. The _pushdug _became unnecessarily cruel very early. Just because he, like all the other Orcs serving the Hand, wasn't considered good enough to fight for their master, nor considered worthy to sire any of the _baalak_. Only the seed of the very best was used, but to envy those poor bastards buried alive in the cells underground was to court madness. To punish the whelps for no better reason than their cursed making was a poor use of one's energy. Those half-Men had no say in how they were made. Didn't have much choice about _anything_, really.

It took Nariinarash almost two days to escort those _tark_ women to the nearest village from the ruins of Isengard, but he figured it wouldn't be near as long before he was back in the bosom of the mountain. He had tough hide on his feet and wasn't scared near to death, for starters. And it was _home_. Maybe not the caves he'd been born in or the ones his own clan migrated in and out of, but he was certain he'd find _some_ group to join. Not all of them were dead or driven deep. And surely not all were answering the Shadow's insistent call.

The Eye called all Orcs all the time; sometimes the call was a whisper, other times it was a ringing clarion. Right now, it was like the buzzing of an annoying insect Nariinarash couldn't wave off. But he didn't have to listen or heed its urgings; he was far too old for that sort of foolishness, to his way of thinking.

One of the Hand's lackeys from Dunland once told him he was only as old as he felt, and Nariinarash certainly felt every single one of his three hundred twenty nine years these days. Or he simply had no stomach for masters anymore.

Nor did he want to spend another moment in the company of the Hand's whelps. He caught a whiff of Uruk-hai one night as he travelled under cover of darkness. Survivors, no doubt. There were many tunnels snaking out of the valley, for the Orcs had lived there for decades without their clans, their mates, their young. Many saw to it they wouldn't go without a tumble for too long, and met mates or just willing females on occasion by sneaking out through those passages. Very few of the Uruk-hai knew about them.

That lot must have, though. And they weren't very bright if they had a fire lit in the dark on the plains of Rohan. Nariinarash shook his head; smart enough to find the exits, smart enough to go west instead of east, dumb as fuck doing the same shit they used to when on a raid and their numbers made it safe to be out in the open and lighting damned _fires_. And making such a noise as they were with their brawling...

He'd likely not see _them_ again, with that sort of behavior.

Skirting the ring of craggy mountains surrounding the flooded valley of his former Master, Nariinarash made a point to keep out of sight and travel under the moon's light. The Uruk-hai were shit in the dark, a happy trade-off for their strength in the sunlight, as far as he was concerned. He didn't fancy running into one of them. He didn't even want to remember that he spent so much of his long life in that filthy piss-hole, much less make small talk about it with a gabbling survivor.

About a day and a half after leaving the _tarks_ to their fate, he reached the southern spur of the Misty Mountains and dove gratefully into the foothills. Another night's scurry brought him to a wide pool fed by a waterfall. It wasn't the promise of a good long wash so much as the scent of Orc all about the place that drew him in excitedly. He'd found a clan, and by the special nuance he'd learned as a pup and never forgot, there were females among them.

He hadn't seen one, or had more than a sniff of Orcess off a fellow returning from the surface, in all those forty-three years. He'd gone in without a mate, and was given a position that didn't allow him to sneak out without someone learning of it. Now he was in a spot that had recently been visited by at least one; might she return?

Well, he'd best wash the rest of the stink of Isengard off him if that was even a remote possibility. Nariinarash didn't want _anyone_ knowing he'd been there. As he scrubbed himself raw in the pool, he vowed to keep it a secret. No reason for anyone to know he was in any way associated with the Hand or his lies. It might even mean his end, whether he met anyone loyal to the Eye or not.

In fact, he decided he would fix it for sure. His name meant he forgot nothing; maybe if he just kept the forgetting part, he wouldn't be dogged every step by that place? That sounded reasonable to him, and so he kept Nariin and left nothing behind.

* * *

Nariin hovered about the pool for another day before he saw anyone, and found he wished there was someone, somewhere to thank for the vision his patience and long tormented stint rewarded him with. There were five of them, all female, coming to the pool to bathe. He kept himself well-hidden and watched them, his todger waking up from its long sleep to take notice.

_Thought you was dead_, he thought teasingly, giving the old fellow a welcoming tug.

"Skût, have a look about," growled one, her low voice like music to ears that hadn't heard a female of his kind in decades. By the sagging skin and wiry frame, he figured she was older than him by far. Didn't make her any less beautiful to Nariin. "Anything come by?"

The one called Skût edged out of the underbrush, pitching her nose in the air. Nariin ducked a bit lower and tried not to smell too strongly, though his musk was building. Another thing he thought wouldn't come from him again.

Even if these females picked up his scent and bolted, he figured it was an encounter well spent if it woke up all that had lain dormant for so long.

Skût snuffled about the edge of the pool, examined the bark of nearby trees, and scanned the rock-strewn shore. Always seeming to be a few feet from where Nariin remembered stepping.

Finally, the female seemed satisfied and turned to her elder with a shake of the head. Nariin sagged with relief. Now the rest of them emerged more fully into the moonlight.

Oh, they were lovely. Nariin gazed wistfully at their dark-skinned bodies as they stripped off the hides they wore and waded into the water. His fingers fairly itched to cup those firm buttocks; his nose twitched and nostrils flared, drinking in the scent of them. They were unabashed in their washing, touching themselves and each other without reservation. Here were females of the same clan, he mused. Some likely from the same family group. There was trust here. He missed that.

"Don't think you can lie to Shaataz," one of the older ones admonished, waggling a dripping finger at another. "Smell it on'im, I does. He stinkin' up duh place with it."

The one she chastised shrugged unconcernedly, lying back against a rock. Her breasts glistened wetly, and she idly stroked one. "Don't much care. It's his own fault, ain't it. Didn't make no promises."

"You should've," the eldest snapped. Nariin had a sudden recollection of his waspish grandmother, and grinned. "You've been leading that pup about by the short hairs for years. Let him have it, will you? There ain't no peace in my den with him chasin' after you, and you danglin' yer bits in his face."

"I like things as they are," the Orcess snarled, her anger rising swiftly. This was clearly an old argument she didn't want spoiling her evening.

"It's so much better with a bonded mate," the youngest said dreamily. "I had Nausaar before we bonded, and after." She drew in a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. "We move as one."

"Hmph," the grumpy one snorted. "Where's yer 'bonded mate' now, eh? Holed up in that valley, slaving away, can't even see you without a fuss. And you only see him when the moon's black." She shook her head. "I wouldn't wanna wait so long for a fuck."

Nariin stiffened at the mention of the valley. Didn't they know...?

"No, of course you don't," the eldest growled sarcastically. "Seems to me Fulak's the only one yer fuckin' anyway. Yuh don't give Burbur a glance, and yuh got no interest in Nardrît..."

"He sick in the head," the one called Shaataz interjected. "Thinks he still in Dol Guldur sometimes."

A low growl rolled through the clearing. "If yuh weren't my own, I'd cut yuh down. We don't talk about that place." The eldest glared menacingly at Shaataz.

Shifting uncomfortably, Shaataz nodded. "Sorry, mum."

"Oi, Kraibûf," the grumpy one said, her voice honey sweet. "Give us a hand, eh? Or a finger." Smirking, she added, "Maybe two or three."

The youngest rolled her eyes and waded over to her. Sighing with the resignation of one who often gets the shit work, Kraibûf sidled up next to the sleepy-eyed Orcess and gave her tit a squeeze.

"Mmm," the Orcess rumbled, settling back against the rock and spreading her legs wide. Nariin's eyes opened nearly as much. Oh, how he'd missed Orcesses!

"She thinkin' 'bout Fulak, I promise you that," Shaataz snickered, watching Kraibûf rub the other Orcess's sex. There was a hungry, almost jealous gleam in Shaataz's eyes, and her own hand strayed below the water. Nariin's gaze shifted to her, and his brow rose. She was one he wouldn't say no to.

"No'm not," the Orcess muttered in reply. "Thinkin' 'bout a _tark_ lickin' my cunny. They do that, yuh know. If yuh treat'em right."

"I ain't doin' it, no matter how nice you are," Kraibûf growled.

"She ain't nice about it," Shaataz smirked.

"Lick it if yuh wanna breathe," the Orcess grinned, giggling to herself.

"Why don't you bond to him, Shagal?" Kraibûf asked quietly, taking advantage of the Orcess's mood to press the point. "Nothin' feels so good as that."

"Faster," Shagal murmured breathlessly, and Kraibûf obliged. "I don't... care... what it'll feel like. I get... what I want... from him."

"What're you afraid of?" Kraibûf pressed. She thrust a finger inside the Orcess, producing an appreciative moan. "'Fulak'll let you play with your toys anytime you want. He likes'em too." A second finger joined the first.

"What if... he don't come back?" Shagal huffed. "What do I... do I do then?"

"He'd be yer bonded mate," Kraibûf replied with certainty. "He'd _always_ come back. _Always_."

"Shagal don't listen," Shaataz muttered, a dark look in her eyes. "She don't want her mate gettin' in the way'uh her games."

"Bring another one into my den," the eldest growled, "and we'll have words, Shagal."

"Leave off!" Shagal barked, her mood souring. Even worse, her anger ruined Kraibûf's efforts to bring her off. The Orcess back-handed the younger one, sending her scampering off with a squeal. "Why can't you all be like Skût, eh? She don't complain about _nothin'._"

The eldest seemed to have reached the end of her tether with Shagal, and rose up to stomp swiftly across the shallow pool. Shagal backed into the rocks fearfully and received a heavy hand across the face.

"One'uh yer toys took yer sister's tongue," she snarled furiously, "so's he could get away from _you_. Gotta remind yuh every day, then? Or do yuh want Gundul givin' yuh what for? He's been itchin' to see to yer hide ever since."

"It weren't my fault!" Shagal roared defensively. "It was Fulak's doin'. Didn't tie'im up proper..."

"That's it, blame Fulak," the eldest nodded sarcastically. "Yuh shouldn't'uh brought the _tark_ into my den in the first place!"

"I go to piss," Shaataz grumbled under her breath, and left the pool. She disappeared quickly into the trees. Nariin barely noticed her departure, he was so focused on the argument. He guessed from their talk that Shagal had an interest in _tarks_, though why she did escaped the Orc's understanding. Apparently, the Orcesses were just as baffled.

"Akhûna, don't be so hard on'er," Kraibûf said timidly. The eldest one rounded on her now.

"Don't you defend'er! Always coddlin'er, you are. Yer worse'n her da, and yuh don't even share blood with'er."

The three Orcesses arguing reminded Nariin so much of the females in his own clan ages ago, he couldn't hide the smile on his face. How he longed to find them again, but he was sure there was no point in looking. Clans that went east never came back west. His had answered the call; a handful went to Isengard, the rest to Mordor. And Mordor is likely where they met their end. He frowned for a moment.

And felt a sharp knife at his throat. Tensing, Nariin froze.

"Look what I find," a low-pitched voice murmured. "Enjoyin' the view, are yuh?"

It was the one called Shaataz. What luck! His smile returned, and he started to turn around slowly. She moved like a snake, and before he knew it, he was lying flat on his back with the Orcess astride his hips, the knife pressed more firmly to his throat. Her free hand had him by the hair.

She looked him over a bit, and he saw her brow rise, and the corner of her mouth twitch a little. "Who are yuh then, eh?"

Nariin hadn't played this game in a very long time, but there was very little he forgot. Smirking, he replied, "I'm yer mate if yuh want one."

Chuckling low, Shaataz loosened her grip and relaxed her knife hand a touch. "We see 'bout that," she said. "What'cha got, eh? Show Shaataz what yuh made of."

Thrilling to the feel of her groping hand at his hide kilt, then the heat of her sex flush with his stiff member, Nariin let her do whatever pleased her. At the moment, fucking him seemed to do so. He groaned, shuddering with pleasure, as she took him. He was startled to feel her fingers on his lips.

"Ssshh," she admonished quietly. "Shaataz don't share."

Nariin nodded vigorously, and pressed his lips tight. Still, it was a struggle not to crow about his fantastic luck, or how good this felt. After all those years of having the shittiest luck imaginable, meeting Shaataz seemed to make up for all of it. Heedless of the knife still at his throat, Nariin grabbed a couple of handfuls of the Orcess's ass and kneaded them like bread dough.

"You a fine fuck," she purred, speeding up. Now she tossed the knife aside and leaned over him, her hands on the ground at his shoulders. She bared her teeth, sucking short breaths, hissing and grunting as she rutted him. Instinctively, Nariin arched his neck and turned his head to the side.

_Have me_, he thought desperately. _Have it... take it..._

He wasn't disappointed. Shaataz growled low and descended. He felt her bare breasts flatten on his chest and grinned as her teeth sunk into the muscle running from his neck to his shoulder. His clawed fingers convulsed, drawing blood on her buttocks as he shuddered with his release. She squirmed and snarled lustily, then disengaged and took a fresh grip lower on his shoulder.

He'd forgotten the gals bit their mates, same as the lads. How _could_ he have forgotten that? Nariin reached up and got a hold of her with his teeth as well.

They must have foregone discretion in their frenzied mating, for Nariin heard Shagal's snickering voice say, "Ah, it ain't nothin'. Shaataz found someone to play with. She's all right."

The intrusion seemed to urge a halt, but Shaataz only slowed to a relaxing, idle stroke. She lapped up the blood she'd drawn on him, nuzzling his neck and shoulder affectionately.

"You come to the cave," she murmured next to his ear. "You belong to Shaataz now."

"Aye," Nariin nodded. "Glad to."

"Need to wash," she growled, wrinkling her nose. "Yuh stink like _tark_. No _tark_ in the cave."

"Uh... I do?" he asked uncertainly.

"Little bit," she shrugged. "Don't like _tark_. Shagal like _tark_. Shaataz don't. So don't be bringin' _tark_ to the cave." Chuckling, she added, "Less yuh wants to eat one."

"Shagal don't eat'em, then?"

"Nah, she fuck'em." Shaataz grimaced with revulsion. "Don't know why. They's disgustin'." Tilting her head slightly, she asked, "Whatcha call yuhself, eh?"

"Nariin," he replied. "You must be Shaataz."

Grinning, she said, "Don't you forget that, now."

* * *

**A/N: **Wondering what the hell this was about? You've probably guessed from all the shameless name-dropping that this story is related to _Misfire of Global Proportions_ and _Hookup of Epic Proportions_. You'd be absolutely right! Stay tuned for _Reconciliation of Mammoth Proportions_, where we find out what the heck Aandar, Eoforhild and Nariin have been doing for the two years following the Fall of Sauron.

If you're as lazy as me and don't want to parse the clan and Uruk names Nariin mentioned, here's the list of names and their meanings.

_Clan names:_

Shatûpshaatii (broken spear)  
Pilikgrishûrz (bloody axe)  
Frûmnarghaash (cold spirit)  
Fitumazauk (winner of war)  
Durthraang (big rage)

_The Pitmaster's 'joke' Uruk names:_

Bûbhosh (pig guts)  
Mozlagal (wind breaker)  
Pushmaath (sweet shit)  
Irzalobûrz (runs like a girl)  
Zukuru (suck balls)  
Rûktramal (horse rapist)

_And the Pitmaster himself:_

Frapuishi (foot in mouth)


End file.
